


Nelaya

by mangochi



Series: Nelaya [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Disease, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mission Fic, Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 12:46:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 54,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangochi/pseuds/mangochi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Into Darkness. Jim becomes aware of Spock's strange behavior shortly after the start of their mission. Meanwhile, Spock struggles with his new and terrifying feelings towards his captain. Angst ensues. </p><p>Nelaya (Vulcan)- suppression, the act of suppressing; conscious exclusion of unacceptable desires, thoughts, or memories from the mind</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nelaya

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in 14 separate chapters, all are compiled here in one chapter for easy access (and because I'm lazy pfffff). Feedback is loved and appreciated :)

Chapter One

It was the eighth day of the mission, and Jim was bored.

It was only to be expected, really. After all, he didn't have anything to _do_. They had been traveling at a sedate Warp 3 for the past week and day, not set on any particular course. He had yet to discover the end of his paperwork, much less new planets and life forms, and his bridge crew had everything well in hand.

All in all, Jim felt next to useless in his big command chair. He didn't like the feeling; he'd had enough of that growing up. Now that it was his chance to BE someone, it seemed that life had finally decided to take it easy on him and make every day an unstimulating hell.

It occurred to him that there must be something very wrong with his psyche for him to actually want a crisis or two. Hadn't he had enough of that with Khan?

No, he couldn't go there. Not yet. The rawness of the incident was still too personal to revisit.

He sighed heavily and cast a disinterested eye over the bridge. "Chekov," he chose at random. "What's your favorite color?"

The ensign looked appropriately surprised. "C-color, Captain?"

"Aquamarine, tangerine, fuchsia...which is it?" Jim was receiving some very odd looks. He ignored them and forced a cheerful grin that he hoped wasn't as desperate as he felt.

Chekov glanced wildly about the room, clearly hoping for some escape. "I...I don't know, Captain. There's so many."

"At the moment, then," Jim pressed.

"R-Red, I suppose, sir."

"An excellent color!" Jim proclaimed. "Bold, gutsy. I like it." He wheeled about, finding Uhura conveniently seated in his view. "And it does look good on you, Lieutenant."

She threw him a glance that was half scathing, half amused. "Thank you, Captain."

"What about you? Favorite color?" A movement to her right caught his attention. "Oh, let me guess. _Blue_? What do you think, Spock?"

He had meant it to be teasing, but Uhura's face immediately locked down and suddenly it was all business again. "I wouldn't know, sir." She turned back to her work, guarded as ever.

Confused, Jim glanced at Spock's back. His first officer had remained silent during the exchange, nothing about the set of his shoulders or his perfect posture indicating that he had even heard. "All right, then...Spock? Black, I'd say. Nice and practical, though you know technically it's not really-"

"As you say, Captain." Spock didn't even turn as he answered, his voice offhand and dismissive. _This conversation is over_ , he might as well have said.

Feeling annoyed and more than slightly wounded, Jim spun back into place and heaved another monumental sigh. _He didn't need to say it like_ that. He hadn't spoken with Spock more than duty required since they left the station; his first officer was prone to disappearing mysteriously after bridge shift and Jim had never seen him in the mess hall, or the gym, or anywhere that wasn't the bridge or the labs, really.

But he supposed that even Spock needed some alone time. He himself preferred to spend his alone time with someone else, preferably in his lap, but unfortunately the ship was lacking in those particular resources.

He turned his mind instead to more pressing matters...

"Spock."

"Yes, Captain."

"What _is_ your favorite color?"

A small pause. "I have no comment on the matter."

"Oh, come _on_ , play along. Who else here wants to know Spock's favorite color?" he asked loudly.

An uncomfortable silence swelled after his words, every bridge crew member suddenly seeming extremely immersed in their work. Jim would have laughed hysterically if he wasn't feeling so damn awkward now. "I would, sir," Sulu said at last.

 _Good old Sulu._ "See? Sulu wants to know. So spill."

Spock still had not turned around. "I do not see the point in having an ultimate color of preference."

"It's an icebreaker." And for whatever reason, there was a hell lot of ice around here to break this morning.

Spock did turn around then. Jim grinned, pleased to have finally gotten a response, then blinked at the datapad suddenly beneath his nose. "Your duties for the day, Captain. May I suggest that you get started?"

Jim stared at Spock's face. There was something strange there, something cold and detached that he hadn't seen since their first mission together. They had become closer after that, or so he'd like to think, but now it was like their first less than congenial meeting was happening all over again.

Spock had turned back around while he was thinking, leaving Jim clutching the PADD in a dazed silence.

There was something wrong with Spock, he decided, gazing down at his schedule blankly. And he was going to find out what.

…

After five more attempts at initiating conversation and receiving five smoothly executed rejections in turn, Jim took his cue and sulked gracefully for the rest of the shift. _Would it have killed the guy to answer a simple question?_ Jim was aware that he could be obnoxious; he prided himself on it, in fact, but he could be polite when he wanted to, and he had certainly been on his best behavior the entire morning. No, he was sure that the fault lay with Spock.

Jim left promptly at the end of shift before the rest of his crew had finished packing up, abandoning his usual ritual of being the last member to depart the bridge. He was irritated now and in need of a large steak. He sincerely hoped that Scotty had finished the upgrades to the replicators he had requested.

The mess hall was half-filled when he arrived, fuming and in no mood for queues. Perhaps his mood was sensed, as he soon found himself at the head of the line. He pulled his tray from the replicator in time to see Spock enter. _Great_. Spock didn't usually eat lunch at the same time as Jim, something about having "no need for sustenance at the moment" or some other logical claptrap, but of course this would be the one day he felt a sudden desire for a salad.

Jim was surprised to not see Uhura with him. Sure enough, the lieutenant wandered in later, accompanied by Sulu and Chekov. Something strange was going on between the two, he was sure. Maybe that was what had Spock's panties in a bunch.

He managed to find a seat as the tables began filling up. Scotty had done a bang-up job on the replicators, he was delighted to find out. Halfway through his steak, he looked up and saw Spock with his tray, standing some distance away while he searched for a seat. The mess hall was almost full, and there was an empty seat beside Jim.

Jim set down his fork, feeling an odd sense of deja vu. This was school all over again.

He wasn't _that_ pissed at Spock, truth be told. Not really. It wasn't like Jim wasn't an ass himself half the time. "Hey, Spock," he called out, before he could talk himself out of it. "Over here."

Spock's head turned, and he saw Jim. Jim knew he did. Their eyes met for a single moment, the first time they had the entire day. He smiled awkwardly, hoping to defuse the tension, and gestured vaguely at the seat next to his. Spock held his gaze a second longer, and Jim began to hope, then looked away deliberately and stalked off to sit beside Yeoman Rand.

Shocked, Jim stared after him, at that retreating blue back that was so firmly turned to him, and felt a roiling tide of injustice rising within him. Spock had done that on purpose. There was no way he could have misunderstood Jim's meaning. Sulu, who happened to be passing at that most inopportune moment, caught Jim's eye and gave a sympathetic nod.

God, even his crew was noticing!

This had to end.

...

He found himself taking the grievance where he usually emptied his woes.

"He's pissed at me," Jim declared, spinning in Bones's chair worriedly, "and I don't know why."

"Damn it, Jim!" Bones swore, bending to pick up the stack of PADDs Jim had sent clattering to the floor. "I'm not your personal shrink! Get out of here before you break that."

"Nope, can't. You've gotta help me."

"With _what_?"

Jim sent him an exasperated look, kicking against the floor to twirl around once more. "Help me think of what I did this time to make him mad."

Bones snorted derisively. "You two have always been like this, Jimmy. There doesn't _have_ to be a reason anymore."

Jim was slightly taken aback at this. Was that how it looked to everyone? Did Spock think of it like that? He had thought that they were finally getting to be friends. At least, until _this_ crap began. "We've been doing good," he protested. "Saving each other's lives and everything. Anyway," he pointed out, "there's improvement, wouldn't you say?"

"He's not strangling you over the console," Bones admitted reluctantly. "But that doesn't make him your best friend."

_I am, and always shall be, your friend._

Jim jerked his head sharply to the side, shaking the strangely poignant memory away. That wasn't Spock. Not _his_ Spock, anyway, the other guy had made that clear enough. Part of Jim, the part that wasn't in complete awe of the Vulcan, almost resented him for changing what would have been his life, his relationships. From what he had gathered from the one meld and the expression on the elder's face whenever he spoke of the _other_ Jim, their friendship had to be something special. Or will be. _Not anymore, I guess_. He'd somehow blown it, like he seemed to blow everything in his life.

"Jim?"

He blinked and turned a blinding grin on the doctor. "No way, that's your job, isn't it?"

"Damn right it is," Bones huffed. "But only because no one else can put up with you." He put the datapads on the desk, safely out of Jim's reach, and sat on the edge of the table with his arms crossed. "So what's been going on between you two, kid?" he asked, his tone slightly softened. "The hobgoblin not treating you right?"

Jim dragged his heels against the floor, halting the revolutions of the chair. Dizzy from the abrupt stop, he shut his eyes, thinking back to what was possibly the most awkward morning he had ever sat in the command chair. Not to mention the disastrous lunch. God, he felt mortified just remembering it. "It's more about what he's _not_ doing. He's been downright ignoring me, Bones."

"He ignores everyone. That's what he _does._ "

"But not _me_."

"Oh, that's right, I forgot. Everything's about you, isn't it." Bones rolled his eyes, but he thumped the back of Jim's head almost affectionately.

"You don't get it. Shift this morning was practically a blizzard. On Delta Vega. And I _know_ what I'm talking about."

Bones scratched his chin absently, squinting contemplatively over Jim's head. "So what if Pointy's being an ass? It's not like he wasn't one before all this. He'll come around eventually. And you've got five years on the ship together anyway. Just give him some space for now."

Well, that was true. Spock couldn't keep this up forever. Maybe he was simply overworked, or stressed, or on some kind of weird Vulcan period. It would pass. And Jim would give him time, because he was a great captain who understood such things. Eventually they would be sociable again and forget all of this ever happened and get drunk together on shore leave like real friends.

Jim had never been particularly good at lying to himself, though he was well-practiced at duping others. So he nodded and agreed boisterously with Bones and enjoyed one final spin before letting himself out of the office.

He wandered aimlessly down the corridor, no particular destination in mind. Damn it, he wanted nothing more than to hunt Spock down and pry some answers out of him. Surely his favorite color wasn't really black. But no, he owed it to himself at least to wait. He wasn't sure if his pride could take another blow like that so soon.

 _Damn him,_ he thought viciously. It all came down to Spock in the end. Unless he really was over thinking this and Spock was truly treating him like normal. Perhaps he had simply read too much into it. Who was he to try and analyze the Vulcan's expressions, anyway? He wasn't the "sensitive" type, never really had been. He much preferred the straightforward approach. Given, that had gotten him in more trouble than he could remember, namely in dubious alcoholic establishments on Saturday nights, but at least he never had to worry and dance about touchy situations. A punch only hurts at first, after all. Dragging it out only seemed to prolong the agony, in his opinion.

But Bones had given him some good, sound advice, and listening to Bones usually got him out of trouble more often than in. Jim knew he could be pigheaded, but he'd always managed to pull his head out of his ass long enough to listen to someone who knew what he was doing. Although, the doctor _was_ divorced...but he didn't know enough of that story to judge. His own relationships were hardly stellar.

In any case, all he _could_ do was bide his time. He'd probably piss Spock off by trying to talk-

He saw Spock. He was just a small figure on the far end of the corridor, but Jim would recognize that stick-up-his-ass posture anywhere. Jim was moving before he knew quite what he was doing, all but sprinting down the corridor as Spock stepped into the lift.

Jim elbowed his way in, booting a startled yeoman out through the closing doors and effectively barring Spock's escape route in the process. He registered a brief flash of what might have been alarm flash across his first officer's face as the doors closed behind him before rigid control smoothed over his features once more. He then watched with rising outrage as Spock inclined his head at the slightest angle, acknowledging his presence with as much indifference as he would a potted fern, and raised his arm coolly to reach for the controls.

 _Unbelievable_. Seized by a childish fit of irritation, he caught Spock's wrist as it passed, locking his fingers with as much strength as he could muster, and slapped his own palm down on the panel behind him to stop the lift mid-descent.

It was suddenly very quiet.

Jim was all too aware that Spock could throw his hand off and bend him into a pretzel with two fingers without twitching a single eyebrow, and that he was fully and utterly disregarding all of Bones's advice. But that was _then_ and this was now, and now he could finally find out what he had done to deserve being treated like...like...

But there really wasn't anything wrong with the way Spock had been treating him, was there? He was polite, in his own frozen way, always followed orders on the bridge, never spoke a word or raised a hand against him...he was the perfect first officer, all around. There was no actual reason for complaint, really.

Except that Jim had thought that they were more than captain and subordinate; he'd thought that they were, well...friends. And friends didn't pull this shit with each other. Hell, Spock had said as much himself, hadn't he? Jim didn't remember much from the warp chamber, he _had_ been dying, after all, but that was perhaps the one thing he was certain had happened. A sudden tide of panic bubbled within him. That _had_ happened, hadn't it? He couldn't have made it up in some random act of delusional, radiation-induced madness? Why was he so fixated on this, anyway? What did it matter if Spock didn't want to be friends with him? They were hardly little girls on the playground, trading secrets and friendships by the swing set. The thought hurt as hell, for some stupid, irrational reason. He'd never been good at this whole understanding feelings thing.

"Captain, what are you doing?" The voice was quiet, even. It sliced through the muddle Jim had worked himself into and jerked him sharply back into the moment. He realized that he was still holding Spock's arm and released it hurriedly, with an air of embarrassment he couldn't explain. Spock folded his hands immediately behind his back and Jim couldn't understand the sudden puff of annoyance he felt. Was he that pissed at him, that he couldn't even handle touching him?

"What are _you_ doing?" he countered, scowling. _Nice, Jim. Real mature comeback you've got there._

A slow, solemn blink of unreadable dark eyes. Those stupid bangs. He'd take a pair of scissors to them right now if he had- "I was heading to my quarters, Captain, to rest for the evening. Is there something that you require from me?"

"I require that you answer me truthfully right here, right now." Jim stepped forward unconsciously and Spock shuffled back smoothly in response. _Annoying_. He pressed forward another step oppressively and felt a stab of satisfaction when the Vulcan's shoulders bumped against the wall. That same odd expression of uncertainty wrinkled Spock's face for a split second, but Jim was certain that he had seen it that time.

"What the hell did I do this time, Spock?" There it was, out in the open. He stepped back a little, to better gauge Spock's response. Unseen by him, the knuckles that had been whitening around the PADD behind Spock's back loosened considerably.

Jim was half expecting a snarky reply, something that insinuated that Jim was being an idiot and an ass without actually saying the words. At the very least, a disdainful sneer and a refusal to answer his utterly illogical query. What he did not expect, however, was for Spock to blink rapidly in complete surprise and say, "I do not understand your question, Jim. If you would please clarify?"

He shouldn't be so relieved that Spock could still bring himself to say his name.

"Clearly, I've done something to upset you, right? You've been dodging me like the plague this whole day. Even before that, for all I know." Jim could practically see Spock mentally analyzing his words, pondering over each sentence as if judging it worthy of a reply. He had realized that Spock did this with almost everything he said in the weeks after Nero. It was somewhat flattering, he supposed, in a disturbingly stressful way. He sometimes felt that he had a set of expectations to live up to around Spock, expectations that he seemed to fail to meet nine times out of ten.

"You have done nothing to antagonize me, Jim," was the eventual, carefully constructed reply. Jim squinted suspiciously, sure that there was a hidden layer behind his answer. Nothing was ever completely black and white with Spock, no matter what he claimed about Vulcans not lying. Vulcans were tricky, sneaky creatures, he knew, who could say two things at the same time and mean a third.

"Nothing? You sure about that?"

Spock gave him a slightly exasperated look. "I was unaware that you were under the impression that you have somehow offended me, although I should have expected nothing less of you."

Jim scowled. "What's that supposed to mean?" There was something in Spock's expression that he couldn't read. He was usually able to tell such things, though recently he had begun to suspect that Spock had only allowed him to read what he wanted Jim to read, and nothing else.

"It means nothing more or less than what I intended." While Jim struggled over this new bit of logical nonsense, Spock made a skillful jab at the controls and the lift began to descend once more. "In any case, rest assured that you have not wronged me in any way." That sounded sincere enough, but didn't offer nearly enough explanation.

Jim pressed, "Then why-"

The lift doors hissed open and Spock stepped smartly around Jim. "Good night, Captain."

There was something like amusement in his tone, as well as...something else. Jim spun around, mouth working wordlessly, trying to say something-anything. There was something he was missing here, something he wasn't getting. Brightest crayon in the box be damned, there was something he wasn't seeing at work here.

Then the doors closed and he was alone.

Jim sagged back against the wall, immensely relieved that he had not, in fact, committed some sort of social suicide by Vulcan standards. But still...Spock was hiding something. And Jim had never been the sort to let a sleeping dragon lie.

* * *

Chapter Two

The next day was almost better. Jim made his way up to the bridge for morning shift with no small amount of apprehension, avoiding even looking at the science station as he took his seat. If he saw Spock right now, he wasn't sure he could resist the urge to jump the man and demand to know what he was hiding from him. Jim had convinced himself of his theory the previous night while he lay awake, unable to fall asleep. He may not be good at reading people, but he had gotten damn good at reading Vulcans, and his gut feeling was rarely wrong. It was telling him now that there was something to be learned here.

Never let it be said that Jim didn't value learning new things.

He was shocked when Spock first spoke to him. "Captain, your duties."

"Ah, thanks." He accepted the schedule without looking at Spock's face, focusing instead on the pale hand that proffered the datapad. His nails were perfectly trimmed, not a single one longer than his fingertip. The sudden mental image of Spock meticulously clipping his nails made his mouth twitch.

Well, at least he wasn't completely ignoring him anymore.

The rest of shift passed in relative peace and lack of frosty atmosphere. Jim was beginning to optimistically think that maybe things were all right now, and their mini heart-to-heart in the lift had cleared things up.

"Excellent work today, Mr. Spock," he dared to say at the end of shift.

Spock paused, halfway out of his seat, and gave Jim a measuring gaze that made his palms inexplicably begin to sweat. He sincerely hoped the Vulcan wouldn't freeze up on him again. His pride would fold and snap and shrivel.

Then Spock stood, straightening his shirt with a brisk, efficient tug to the hem, and nodded coolly at Jim. "Thank you, Captain. You performed admirably as well." He dismissed himself after that without staying to exchange more pleasantries, but Jim was resigned by now to the fact that this would be somewhat of a working progress. At least he had been merely cool instead of frigid.

He tried to take his mind off it. Sulu had once offered to give him a few fencing pointers, and he now seized the opportunity gladly. Spock rarely showed up at the gym- _damn his impeccable genetics_ -and so Jim was able to enjoy several sweaty hours a day without the issue constantly itching at his mind. He now admitted that it was more of an issue than he wanted it to be.

They were supposed to be, according to Spock's own counterpart, at least, the better halves of each other. Right now, they seemed more like two whole things rolling about on their own in a great puddle of unresolved tensions. Tensions that only Spock seemed to know how to fix, seeing as how he had refused to tell Jim anything.

The fact that he had denied there being a problem only made it seem more valid in Jim's mind. Bones really shouldn't have been that surprised to see him back.

Four days after confronting Spock in the lift, Jim burst into the medical bay unannounced with a cheerful chorus of, "Honey, I'm home!", to be received by Bones violently toppling from his office.

Jim stopped and blinked in consternation. "Are you usually this athletic?"

"Not usually, no," the older man grunted, slapping the panel and shutting the doors behind him. "And what is it you're here for now?"

"What, can't I stop by to see you sometime?" Jim hopped up onto the side of an empty bed, looking around the empty bay curiously. "You don't get a lot of business here, do you?"

"You're our main repeating offender," Bones informed him dryly. "And we do get the occasional engineering mishap."

Engineering. Jim tried to suppress a shudder. He had managed to find enough excuses to not go down there and so far hadn't so much as descended one metal staircase.

He wasn't traumatized, he told himself firmly. He just needed some...time, that was all. That particular day had been overwhelming, to say the least.

"Jim?"

"I'm fine, it's no- _put that down, Bones._ "

The doctor seemed to realize he was advancing with tricorder in hand and reluctantly pocketed it once more. "Why are you really here, kid?"

Jim swung his legs absently. "Remember the time I asked you about Spock?"

Bones grumbled something unintelligible under his breath before sighing heavily. "Of course, kid. You were being a girl about it."

"Was not," Jim returned automatically.

"Was." Bones squinted at him suspiciously. "I take it that 'giving him time' didn't work out so well."

"Well. You know me, Bones. Always the overachiever."

"My God, you've messed it up somehow, haven't you?"

"No! At least, I don't think so. Not any more than it was already, anyway."

"Damn it, Jim, why ask my advice if you're just going to ignore it?"

"Because that's what I _do_ ," Jim said desperately. "Are you going to help me or not?"

Bones sighed again and ran a hand down his face, stretching his suffering expression ghoulishly long as he glared at Jim. "Fine. _Fine._ " He stumped to a stool and perched on it grumpily. "How's the situation?"

Jim considered for a moment. "Better. Not like how it used to be, but better."

"Have you...been alone with him, by chance?"

Jim thought that was a strange question, but Bones refused to meet his inquiring gaze, gazing somewhere to the left of his head instead. "Have you...talked to Spock lately, Bones?"

Bones guffawed loudly. "What? Why would I need to talk to that overgrown gremlin? It's not like _he's_ the one with the allergy list longer than my-"

"Bones, you really are a terrible liar."

He spluttered. "What?"

"When did you see him? Did he seem okay? Was-"

"Quiet down, damn it," Bones hissed, glancing back at his office for some reason. "Yes, we talked. I asked him to push through my vaccine requests. We really are running low on-"

"That's it?" Jim deflated a little. Honestly, he wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but he felt oddly disappointed.

" _Yes_. Now, back to your failures. _Have_ you been alone with him?"

"No, of course not." He tried very hard to not think about the lift. Something told him Bones wouldn't like the idea of the two of them in a small, confined space together. Fortunately, he was a much better liar than his friend.

Bones sagged with visible relief. "Good. Best you keep it that way."

"How are we supposed to fix this, then?"

"You're not. Let it fix itself. Some things don't need interference."

Jim felt about to tear his hair out. "Look, Bones, I'm really bad at this."

"Clearly."

"So tell me in...little words. Why can't I talk to Spock about this again?"

Bones looked as if he had a particularly hairy and unwashed tribble in his mouth. "Because... Jim...just, just trust me on this, will you?"

"But-"

"Jim. Who helped you with Kristy Popler our first year again?"

Oh God, he was going to start this again. Jim sighed. "You did."

"And that blonde, with the legs. Sherri. Who did you ask for help then?"

"Bones-"

"Who?"

"You, obviously."

"There, see!" Bones looked obscenely pleased with himself. "So listen to me for once in your life and leave Spock alone. You'll both be better off for it, believe me."

Jim shriveled a little. "Fine," he muttered. "Fine." He hopped off the bed and tugged his shirt down, miffed. "You better be right about this," he warned.

Bones flapped a hand at him, looking distracted. Jim wondered _what_ was in the office that he kept looking at. _If Bones has a woman in there, I swear..._ he let that unfortunate thought trail off on his own, shook his head emphatically, and left the medical bay.

Leonard made certain that the doors were well and truly shut before bolting off the stool, all but pounding the keypad to open his office doors. "That," he snarled, "was too close. And what the hell are you doing down there?"

Spock unfolded himself from under Leonard's desk, ridiculously green in the face from being confined in the small space. He looked practically sheepish as he straightened. "I was taking precautions, should Jim have decided to enter."

"I would've kept him out, you know. Wouldn't want him finding out about our little sessions, now would we." He marched straight to his chair and threw himself down, wishing he had a good bottle of Saurian whiskey to go along with his sudden migraine. "We should start a club or something, don't you think?"

Spock ignored him, clasping his hands behind his back almost absently and gazing at the doors through which Jim had departed. He didn't even seem to realize he was doing it, the bastard. Leonard sighed. "You're slipping up," he informed the Vulcan. "He's come to _me_ about it, and that's pretty bad. Kristy Popler had two heavyweight division brothers, you know."

"I did not." Spock tore his eyes from the door. "I should depart, doctor. Thank you for your time."

"Hmph." Len didn't see how he could've possibly turned Spock down, not after seeing him in that state after Jim...well, he didn't like going there in his mind, either. "Hey, Spock. If you...well. If you need to...damn it, I'm not cut out for this, if you need to talk to anyone, that is. You can talk to me. I've known that kid longer than anyone on the ship."

"I am aware, doctor." Spock suddenly looked very tired. "I would appreciate it if you did not mention this to Jim."

"Hell no. I know how he'd react as well as you. Just give it time. Sort it out. I've told him to stay clear, so there won't be any more of that lift shit he pulled." Damn it, he'd _told_ Jim to leave Spock alone, and not ten minutes later he's got the guy cornered in the turbo. If the kid wasn't so damn good at what he did, and if Len didn't like him so much, he'd be a larger pain in the ass than he was now.

Spock looked genuinely grateful. The expression didn't suit his snobby Vulcan face. Len would have told him that himself if the first officer wasn't in such a pathetic state.

 _My God, Jim Kirk makes idiots out of everyone_.

Spock left, and Len began to seriously reconsider his self-imposed no drinking on duty rule. He remembered all too vividly the harrowing two weeks after Jim's transfusions. The kid had been on and off, touch and go. Len had refused to leave his bedside for most of those two weeks, until Christine finally made a judgment call and had him sedated. Even now, he still had nightmares about Jim's heart monitor flatlining at two in the morning.

He could only imagine what it was like for Spock. The first officer had been with him when he wasn't answering to the Federation in Jim's place. Nothing would ever show on his face, but Len had seen the security feed from engineering. They sat in silence together while Jim breathed in and breathed out and his heart struggled to keep beating, hoping that, if he ever woke, he would still be the Jim that they knew.

The chances, well, nobody knew the chances, as no one had ever attempted something so stupid or desperate. A tribble was one thing, a functioning human being was quite another. But Jim had opened his eyes and groaned and was his idiotic self within five minutes, and Len had kept a stash of whiskey in his office ever since.

Spock had shown up at his door two days after Jim had woken, faint shadows under his eyes and using contractions. "Doctor," he had said. Len still remembered those words clearly. "I'm afraid that I'm compromised."

And so their impromptu talks had began. He sensed how difficult the decision to come to him had been for Spock, and, being a doctor, he felt that he had to help in some way. They weren't exactly friends now, him and the hobgoblin, but he understood Pointy much more than he had before the incident.

It didn't take long for him to see that Spock has having very...different issues than Len. He personally was straighter than a ruler, and he suspected that Spock had never felt this way about any other male but Jim. There was something about the kid that couldn't be compartmentalized into distinct boundaries, something about his attraction that was most definitely not rational. _He's a natural heartbreaker, that one._

And then Jim had come to him. He almost wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. Was this the universe's way of telling him that he was cut out to be a therapist?

He wanted the best for Jim, he wanted the kid to be happy. He didn't know if Spock could be the one, he didn't know if he wanted Spock to be the one. But it seemed that neither of them knew what they wanted, and he had no idea what to tell them.

Christine better not have tossed his secret stash, he decided. This was a real two-bottle problem to be had.

…

Jim made an effort to behave himself. He really did. That didn't change the fact, however, that his track record of good behavior was not the epitome of perfection.

Somehow, through pure willpower alone, he made it another day without even thinking of Spock. A sudden influx of paperwork due to a transporter mishap certainly did not hurt.

There was only one incident that occurred at the end of shift. The usual bustling was occurring while duties were passed down and duty logs were hastily concluded. Jim lounged back in his chair and watched the happenings with a distant interest, waiting for the last officer to wrap up.

He felt a light touch on his shoulder, followed by a soft, "Captain." He found himself looking up into Uhura's strangely pleasant expression. Jim blinked up warily, unsure of her intentions. He liked Uhura-she was possibly the most willful woman he knew, beautiful, smart, and somehow she had managed to strike up a romance with a _Vulcan_. He was also aware of the rocky start to their acquaintance, though he thought that it may be warming to a full friendship as of late.

Of course, then again, he'd also thought that about Spock, and look at them now.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"I was wondering," she replied, her voice ringing out perhaps a little louder than their distance warranted, "if you would like to have lunch. With me. Just the two of us."

Jim squinted at her suspiciously. There was something very off here. He knew he was charming, but he didn't flatter himself enough to think that he'd somehow finally gotten Uhura to give him the time of day. "Are you feeling okay?" he cautiously ventured.

Uhura gave a shimmery, extremely resonant laugh, and, for a moment, Jim thought he saw her eyes dart at something just over his head, as if checking a reading on a screen. He almost turned to look, but her hand clenched down threateningly on his shoulder, nails pinching his flesh uncomfortably, and her smile became a little less glittering and a tad bit more steely around the edges. "So, lunch?" There was a determined glint in her eyes that he didn't want to explore.

"Yes, of course," he said at once, for wise in the ways of womanly wrath was Jim Kirk. He heard the hiss of the doors closing and looked over to see Spock's empty chair gently swiveling back into place. Odd. He hadn't realized Spock was still here.

Uhura's expression held a note of amusement as he glanced back at her.

"So what's with the lunch date?" he asked later, as they sat down together in the mess hall.

"What, I can't eat with you if I want to?" She hadn't needed more than one prompt to drop his title in informal settings, and Jim's estimation of her had risen another hefty notch.

"No, it's not that."

"Am I too pretty for you?" she teased.

"You know what, never mind." And he took her companionship in stride from that point on, which, to his surprise, did not end after the one arbitrary lunch. Uhura made it a point to seek him out the next day, and the next, and soon it had become a daily ritual of sorts. He thought he saw Spock once in the hall, watching them solemnly with dark brows drawn, before a greasy cluster of engineers swarmed the gap between them, but he never once approached them or interfered.

It was beginning to weird Jim out. He wasn't sure how open minded Spock and Uhura were about their relationship, but he was certain that this should not be a normal thing. He rarely saw them together anymore, if at all, but he never once detected an ulterior motive in Uhura's newfound friendship. She was becoming more of a sister now, an older one who never failed to let him forget his goofs and bestowed smiles of patronizing affection.

It was Uhura who first broached the subject of Spock. They were having dinner together in the captain's mess, discussing the finer points of battle simulations and strategy training when Uhura set down her fork and looked him straight in the eye. "You know, Spock's really the one to talk to about this."

"Oh?" Jim asked cautiously.

"Sure. We used to play chess for a bit. Of course, he'd crush me."

"I used to play," Jim mused, thinking distantly to sunnier childhood days. His mother hadn't been away as often then, and they had sat in the kitchen on warm afternoons and played with a battered old set they had rescued from a garage sale. "It's been some time, though."

"Well, it's never too late to start back up." She sipped her tea calmly, still watching him. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Do you always do that?"

"Do what?"

"Watch people like that."

Uhura set her cup down. "It's a bit of a habit. You can tell a lot about a person just by watching their reactions. Learn things about them that they don't know themselves." She deliberately leaned in towards him, resting her arms on the table, and smiled. "Why, does it bother you?"

"Not really." Jim could relate to wanting to know things about other people. Why Spock was giving him the cold shoulder now, for one.

"What's up with you and Spock?" he suddenly blurted, then immediately wished he hadn't. He knew well what kind of punches Uhura packed.

Unexpectedly, she only raised her eyebrows in mild surprise, her slender fingers tapping pensively on the table instead of wrapping around his neck. "What's with the sudden interest?" she asked finally, not a muscle in her face giving anything away. Damn, she was good.

Jim tried to keep his own face schooled, though he wasn't sure what kind of expression he should be making. "No reason. Things just seem...different between you two."

Uhura pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I suppose they are," she said slowly.

Emboldened by the encouraging lack of violence and emotional tears, Jim pressed, "So what happened? Clearly, you two haven't broken up-"

"Oh, no, we're no longer in a romantic relationship." She smiled faintly, most likely at his confounded expression. "Is it really that shocking?"

Jim came to his senses enough to close his mouth and shake his head uncertainly, unsure of what she wanted to hear. "Ah, well...I don't know. I never expected...well. It's Spock," he explained lamely. "Figured he'd be the chivalric type and all that." He really had not pinned Spock for the short term kind of guy.

Uhura gave a soft laugh, a tinkling sound that was her laugh alone. "It was a mutual agreement, if you must know. Keep it professional, you know?"

Jim nodded sagely. "Office romances. They never do work out, do they?"

"Yes, well, that. And..." she paused, looking down at the mindless pattern she had been tracing on the table with her fingernail, "...he didn't say, but I think there's another reason."

Jim leaned forward, intrigued. "Another reason?"

She shrugged casually. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"Oh, come on, reading people's your _thing,_ isn't it?" He was starting to get excited. Could this reason have anything to do with the way Spock had been acting lately? "Do you think he's hiding something?"

Uhura turned those liquid dark eyes on him, piercing him with that stare of hers that seemed to peel back his bravado and root around in all his insecurities. "I really couldn't say."

"Couldn't you say a little?" Jim wheedled. "Just a hint."

"A hint?" She was still looking at him oddly. "Well...he's-"

Her communicator beeped. Uhura blinked and looked down. "That's odd. I'm not on duty."

"Never mind it, then." Jim tapped the table impatiently. "What were you saying?"

She silenced him with an upheld manicured finger, fumbling at her waist. "Uhura here," she spoke into the communicator.

" _Lieutenant, you might want to get up here."_

Jim's communicator sounded. He started in surprise, shared a puzzled look with Uhura, and answered. "Kirk."

" _Captain!"_ Chekov's voice was breathless and excited. _"You will want to see this!"_

Jim stood, all thoughts of Spock put aside. "I'm on my way."

* * *

Chapter Three

"Captain, we're receiving a distress signal from an unidentified Starfleet vessel," Uhura called out, one hand on her headset and the other fiddling at her console. "It's very distorted, but I think..." Her face wrinkled in concentration. "Patching coordinates to you now, sir."

"Excellent work, Lieutenant." Jim studied the star map expanding on the screen, standing and walking forward to examine it closer. "What planet is that, Commander?" _Sorry, Bones. Looks like I can't leave him alone after all._ He'd been a good boy for the past week, courtesy of Uhura's convenient distractions, but it looked like duty called once more.

Spock's voice replied from somewhere behind him, "I do not know, Captain. It does not appear to be on any of our records." They had been drifting in deep space for days now. Jim supposed they had to come across one of these at some point.

"But the distress signal is from a Starfleet vessel?" he inquired incredulously. "I thought there weren't any other authorized ships out here."

"There shouldn't be, sir," Uhura responded. "But the frequency is of Starfleet origin, yes. I can patch a transmission to HQ, sir."

"No. By the time they respond, it may be too late." _Too late for what?_ He didn't know, but there a strange sense of dread sitting in his gut. Something bad was happening. "Mr. Spock, what does regulation state?"

"Sir, regulations state that, being the nearest vessel, we are required to assist the ship," came Spock's even voice, somewhat reluctantly, Jim thought.

Jim stared at the blinking coordinate. "Hit it, then, Mr. Sulu."

"Yes, sir. Commencing to warp in three, two..."

Space bent and distorted around them in a stream of energy. Jim returned to his chair. "Time of arrival?"

"Two minutes, sir."

"Good. Spock, prep a landing team and meet at the transporter room. I want two medics and three security detail. Anyone else we need, you find them."

"Yes, Captain." Spock left and Jim turned to look after him. He wondered if the situation was "fixing itself," as Bones had been so certain it would. Their relations hadn't _worsened,_ exactly, but Jim couldn't shake the horrible feeling that waiting it out was only going to increase their distance.

He shook his head briskly. He could think about this later. Now, it seemed, there was a ship that needed saving.

Sulu cleared his throat. "Entering orbit, Captain, in five, four, three, two, _one._ "

The Enterprise jolted out of warp, and Jim got his first look at the unknown planet.

He blinked for a moment, unsure of what he was looking at at first. The planet below them was an ashy gray, flat and featureless but for the odd craggy line that suggested mountain ranges. He didn't see an ocean in sight. The planet looked, well...dead.

"This is weird," he stated.

"Captain, the signal has stopped," Uhura said urgently. Her hands flew across her console frantically. "It's gone, sir, I've lost it."

"Can we hail the ship?"

"Negative, sir."

"Did we get the planetside coordinates, then?"

A pause. "Affirmative, sir."

"Good. Send them down to Scotty."

"Sir?"

Jim flapped a hand impatiently. "And patch a transmission to Starfleet, while you're at it. Ask them why the hell there's a crashed ship on some godforsaken planet in the middle of uncharted space."

"And where will you be?" Uhura finally asked.

"With the rescue team, of course." Jim was somewhat surprised. Where else did she expect him to be? She was looking at him oddly, as if she knew something he didn't. "Is there a problem?"

"No," she said slowly. "Captain."

He blinked at her, decided it was nothing, and wheeled back around. "Sulu, you have the conn." Jim stood and made for the doors. He couldn't pretend that he wasn't at least a little excited. Finally, something was _happening_! And he could finally take his mind off of Spock.

He found Spock and the others in the transporter room as he had instructed. Bones was with him, as well as Chapel and three security. Scotty was in place behind the controls, fiddling with the coordinates. To his surprise, they were in bulky containment suits, hoods already up in place. "What's this?"

"Preventive measures," Bones grunted, his voice tinny and muffled by the clear mask in front of his face. "We don't know what the atmosphere's like down there."

Jim glanced around the room. "Where's mine?"

Bones blinked and, encumbered by the suit, shuffled awkwardly around at Spock. "Uh."

"You are not coming," Spock said shortly, not taking his eyes off the phaser he was arming,

"Come again?" Maybe he hadn't heard right. Because there was no way that Spock had just told him-

"Captain, it would be most unwise for you to join us."

Jim frowned, annoyed. He turned to Bones. "That's ridiculous. I'm coming down there with you."

Bones glanced at Spock again, his eyes wary. "Sorry, kid. We're out of suits."

Jim felt fit to explode. "Are you kidding me? This isn't about the suits, is it?"

"Jim-"

"And _you_." He turned furiously to Spock. "You have no right."

Spock stared back at him calmly, his face completely void of expression. "You instructed me to form a landing team, Captain, which I have done. I have not included you, because I deemed the circumstances to be unsuitable for your presence."

"So what, this is your way of telling me I'm not good enough?" Jim demanded.

"No. Your participation is simply unnecessary in this case. I am perfectly capable of performing a reconna-"

"So am I!"

"Jim-"

"Not _now_ , Bones."

Scotty coughed apologetically behind him. "Eh, Captain. They'll need to get going now."

Jim glared at Spock, breathing heavily. The injustice rankled. "You better be going, then," he said coldly.

"Indeed." For a moment, Spock looked like he was going to say something more, then he nodded curtly and mounted the platform with the rest of the team, looking anywhere but at Jim.

Jim crossed his arms tightly, trying to physically hold in his humiliation. All his excitement from earlier now sat somewhere south of his knees, heavy and black and cold. This was not how he had imagined his first conversation with Spock in days to go at all. Everyone else was carefully avoiding looking at him, he noticed bitterly. Probably feeling sorry for their utter failure of a captain.

"Energize," Spock's voice said, far off in the distance, and then they were gone.

Jim stared at the empty platform, feeling a sense of loss. Scotty made an uncomfortable noise behind him, as if he was trying to cough without making a sound, and Jim spun around. "You'll let me know when you beam them back." It was not a question.

The engineer looked startled. "A-Aye, Captain. 'Course I will."

Jim paused, then stopped and sighed, running a hand absently through his hair. "Look, Scotty, I'm sorry. I blew my top a little back there."

"Psh. Don't worry 'bout it." Scotty waved a hand dismissively. "You just sort him right out when he gets back, yeah? That's no good, coddling a captain like that. You tell him I said so."

Jim cracked a grin. "Yeah, thanks, Scotty."

…

When he received the call from Scotty barely an hour later, Jim all but sprinted down to the transporter room. He swung through the doorway, breathless, in time to see the figures spinning into existence on the platform. Frantically, he did a head count. One, two, three, Bones, Chapel, Spock, all there. And one more.

Two of the security detail held a stretcher between them, a prone figure strapped down to it. As soon as they had materialized, the suited figure that was Bones was shouting into his communicator, "...Need support up here! We've got one male, aged thirty-five to for-"

Jim stumbled out of the way as the stretcher was hustled off the platform, only able to get one good look at the injured man.

The man looked terrible. His red Starfleet uniform was torn and filthy, almost beyond recognition, with long bleeding gashes beneath the ripped fabric. His skin was gray where it was not black with grime, his face drawn and gaunt. A sheen of sweat gleamed over his forehead, painting streaks down his face. His entire body was racked with shivers and tremors, eyes rolling beneath flickering lids.

Jim barely registered all of this before a medic was elbowing him aside, superior in his own territory, and the man was carried briskly down the corridor along with his entourage of nurses.

"Jim," Bones said wearily from behind him. He turned to see his friend, still in his containment suit, the helmet pulled off and tucked beneath one arm.

"Just one?" Jim realized, seeing no other stretchers headed his way.

"Sorry, not now, kid." Bones brushed past him, patting his arm gruffly in the passing. "We just barely got him stabilized down there."

Jim watched Bones run after the stretcher, then noticed the trail of gray ash he was tracking behind him. He bent and touched the powder, rubbing it absently between his fingers. He _hated_ not knowing when something was going on. What the hell had been down there?

He turned and saw Spock.

He was just exiting the transporter room, wearily removing his hood. He looked up sharply, as if sensing Jim's gaze, and their eyes met.

All the pent up anger suddenly returned, stronger than ever if anything. Jim spun hastily and strode down the corridor, his ears burning. _I'm not running,_ he told himself. _I'm keeping myself from breaking his nose. Quite mature of me, really._

But damn it all if he wasn't mad enough to kill right now.

He found himself marching into the empty gym, stripping his command shirt off in a single move and wadding it up in frustration. _Damn it. Damn_ him. His undershirt sailed through the air to join its golden twin. He pulled his gloves on with a singleminded fury, determined to bash every iota of anger out before morning. He'd always worked out his stress this way, as juvenile as it seemed. Better this than taking it out on Spock and having his captaincy removed.

_He'd like that, wouldn't he? The irony of it._

The first blow against the punching bag jarred his arm clear to the shoulder. He hadn't bothered to warm up; he needed this to hurt him, for the pain to ground him. So he gritted his teeth, flexed the sore muscle, and hit the bag again with all his strength, trading technique and skill for brute force and power. The impact went better this time, and he was soon pounding away, his breaths coming in short, hard bursts.

He tried to siphon away the dark, bitter anger seething beneath his thoughts with every blow. It wasn't right. Spock had only been doing his job, but somehow that made it even more unbearable.

Jim jabbed the punching bag in rapid succession, grunting with the force of each swing, and tasted sweat on his lips. He paused to catch his breath, catching the swinging bag and resting his forehead heavily against it. The cool surface was a balm against his hot skin, flushed with exertion and anger. The sound of his pants echoed around the gym. He dug his fingertips into the bag, readying himself to begin once more.

A quiet footfall rustled behind him, probably more out of courtesy than anything. Spock had always walked quietly. Jim sighed, refusing to turn. "What is it, Mr. Spock?" He didn't bother to hide the bitterness in his voice.

"I need to speak with you, Jim."

"Say what you need to, then." He pushed off from the bag, sending it swaying once more, and bobbed lightly on his toes before sending another right hook flying.

Beneath the sound of his low grunts and the dull thudding of his gloves against the bag, he heard Spock's even voice. Calm and unfluctuating. The bastard. "I have considered my actions concerning the rescue, Captain, and have concluded that I may have...overstepped myself in preventing your participation."

"Damn." Smack. "Right." Thump. "You did."

"However, you are partly at fault, as well."

Jim laughed hollowly. Of course he was. "Why are you even here, then?"

Spock hesitated, then reached past Jim, filling the left side of his vision with blue- _he changed his clothes,_ Jim noticed distractedly-and stopped the bag. "I do not wish for you to believe that I consider you inadequate in any way."

Jim turned disbelievingly and found himself almost nose to nose with the other man. Dark eyes swept his face in what was almost concern. Feeling extremely irked by this, Jim sneered nastily. "What, so you're worried about my feelings now?"

"Jim-"

"Should've thought of that before you started acting the pointy-eared bastard again." Spock blinked at that and Jim turned back around triumphantly, drawing his arm back again for another jab.

A steely grip locked around his wrist before he could begin the movement, holding his arm in place. Jim tried to jerk away in vain. "Let go," he said though gritted teeth, a vein practically throbbing at his temple. _Who the hell does he think he is?_

"Jim, you must listen to me." The voice was low and urgent, almost against his ear. The back of Jim's neck prickled with the sudden awareness of how close they were standing. He wondered vaguely if Spock could read his mind without melding. The thought suddenly bothered him.

" _Captain_ ," he spat, trying to twist away in vain.

Spock froze for a moment, then moved on smoothly. "Captain, the situation was too dangerous for you to partake in the venture."

"Bull," Jim snarled, "I'm not a kid, Spock!"

"No, but you are the-"

"I'm the captain, yeah! Which means I can make my own damn decisions, thank you very much. You can't-"

"On the contrary, I am your first officer and am fully responsible for keeping-"

"What kind of a captain am I if I can't even save one person!" Jim snarled.

The hand restraining him tightened briefly, branding the imprint of Spock's fingers into his flesh. "What kind of a first officer would I be if I allowed you to be killed?" Spock returned quietly. The "again" was left unsaid, but hung heavily in the air between them. Something like static electricity seemed to crackle up Jim's arm to his elbow, stemming from where Spock's fingers curled around his wrist. It was over in a split second, and Jim was unsure if it had really happened at all.

With a surge of strength he didn't know he possessed, Jim tore away from Spock's hand and stepped forward, widening the gap between them before he turned again. "That's not your call to make, Commander." He could play the title game as well as anyone, when he was well and truly pissed.

Spock was looking at him strangely, as if he wanted to say something but was unable to. One hand was still outstretched. Jim crossed his arms, suddenly conscious of his bare chest. Now that he wasn't moving, the cool temperature was starting to get to him. A chill caused a small shudder, and he saw Spock's eyes dart to the movement before returning to his face. The strange expression was gone now, wiped away by sterile control and replaced by the robotic look Jim was reluctantly becoming accustomed to seeing. "I apologize," Spock said at last. "I did not mean to..." Unexpectedly, he trailed off and blinked. Jim felt his eyebrows rise in surprise, some of his anger draining away at the spectacle. Was Spock _floundering_?

"I did not mean to exceed my bounds," Spock finished, as smoothly as if he had never stopped. "Captain." And he left, with a jerky swivel on his heel.

Jim was left standing there, mouth slightly open as he gazed after Spock, wondering what the hell had just happened.

…

In the dream, he was completely naked, legs entangled in his bedsheets, most of which had been tossed restlessly onto the floor. A sheen of sweat glistened over flexing muscles, dripping down the side of his torso as his back arched in pleasure above the bed. His thighs were spread enticingly, one knee bent upwards while toes dug desperately into the mattress, the other hooked over the side of the bed, jerking occasionally into the air. One hand caressed his chest, pulling and flicking at a hardened nipple while the other...

Spock swallowed hard, the rising heat that had been coiling in his gut suddenly surging downwards to a much more specific location. The captain was pleasuring himself. A quiet groan escaped Jim's parted lips, his eyes fluttering shut as he tightened his grip on himself, giving his throbbing member a long, slow tug. Whatever he was doing, he was deriving great pleasure from the act. Spock had never seen the like before, nor dared to imagine such a thing. His eyes drank in the sight of Jim rocking ecstatically into his own palm, hums of satisfaction stuttering into small gasps and pants as he neared his climax.

Arousal coiled painfully in Spock's groin, straining at the front of his trousers. Without thinking, he grasped the growing bulge and squeezed lightly, unable to take his eyes off of Jim, who had rolled onto his side to face Spock.

Dimly, he wondered if this was some form of premeditated torture. If he had thought the profile of Jim was merely stimulating, the frontal view was pure agony. He registered it in flashes. Flushed cheeks, panting mouth. Heaving, trembling chest, nipples hard and swollen from teasing. Taut muscles quivering as Jim's hips rolled and thrusted with increasing speed. Spock closed his eyes to the incredible sight firmly, concentrating on abating his own arousal. A flutter of pleasure rose as he brushed the bulge with his thumb and he squashed it down firmly. Moments passed and he thought that he might not make an utter humiliation of himself after all, when a sudden, strangled exhalation of air caused his eyes to snap open.

Jim was... _was_ he?

Then he shifted, and Spock could see his fingers working at his own entrance, rubbing and teasing the tight bud even as his other hand continued its motions. Spock's eyes followed the glistening trail of thick, clear liquid flowing over moving fingers, down the impressive length of trembling flesh, pooling in the dip of muscle between his thigh and-

His eyes opened and met Spock's, a searing blue jolt that electrified his entire body and paralyzed him. They were a brighter color than they were in reality, but oddly and constantly shifting, as if Spock could not remember them correctly. Glistening, swollen lips parted, curving invitingly in the infamous Jim Kirk smile. He rolled smoothly to one elbow, skin wet from exertion, a bronzed deity rising from snowy waves. He reached out a hand still dripping with his own fluids towards the frozen Spock, fingers beckoning enticingly. "Come here," he breathed, voice heavy with heated, unspoken promises and endless possibilities, and in his dream, Spock went.

…

His eyes snapped open into darkness. "Lights," he rasped after a moment, and his rooms were instantly flooded with a white, sterile glow. Spock unfolded his legs slowly, stretching out the stiffened muscles, and ran a hand wearily over his face, striving to wipe away the all too vivid dream. He did not dream often-he usually maintained too much control during his meditations to allow such a juvenile slip-but when he did, the detail could be...excruciatingly clear. Even now, simply by covering his eyes, he could still see the straining cords in Jim's neck as he tossed his head back, smell the tang of salt and sex from his heated skin...

With a wordless growl of frustration, Spock shook his head forcefully and surged to his feet, stalking the length of his orderly room. The clean structure of his own furnishings was a mocking reminder of the tumult of his mind and he swiped an arm angrily across a shelf as he passed, sending its contents crashing to the floor. He ignored the mess, even as he felt something crack beneath his foot as he paced.

He could not allow himself to think like this, to see Jim in such a way. To do so would betray everything he knew, everything Jim expected from him. He needed to be strong, unswaying, ready to advise and guide, not lost and blundering in the darkness of his own emotions. He had never had something as simple or complex as friendship before, and friendship with Jim Kirk seemed to be of the most trying sort; he could not- _would_ not destroy it now.

His mind had already turned traitor, but he could no more control his emotions now than when he was a child, angry and lashing out. His body, however...he could not forgive himself this irrationality. Seeing the captain earlier in the gym, stripped to the waist and _gleaming_ like that, had certainly not helped. He could imagine the look on Jim's face if he ever knew or even suspected how much Spock had felt simply seeing him in the gym. Horror, perhaps, or disgust. No, no, Jim was not so base or crude. He would look at Spock in that terribly understanding way and apologize politely and most certainly leave him, thinking it was the kind thing to do, and that would hurt Spock more than any violent rejection.

But he wanted him. The realization stopped him mid-stride halfway across the floor, his entire body swaying with the force of his revelation. He wanted James Tiberius Kirk. He _wanted_ him. It was no longer enough to be his friend, his advisor. He wanted his smile, his eyes, his brightness, his heart and soul to be _his_ , and his alone. He wanted his everything. More than he had ever wanted anything in his life, he wanted this.

Despair clawed at his chest, tearing his heart to countless shreds. He may want Jim, need him desperately, but he could never allow himself to have him.

* * *

 

Chapter Four

The datapad clattered loudly to the floor, the sharp retort causing most of the heads on the bridge to swivel around. At Jim's glare, they hastily bobbed back around. He returned his gaze to Spock, who still stood with his hand outstretched, looking almost as shocked as Jim felt.

Spock had been passing the PADD over the back of his chair for him to sign and Jim, feeling especially lazy that morning, had mindlessly reached back over his shoulder without looking. His index finger had just barely brushed something, Spock's thumb in most likelihood, and then Spock had dropped the whole thing like a particularly hot potato.

When Spock made no move to fetch the datapad, Jim bent and picked it up himself, running a hand automatically over its surface and checking it for cracks. Spock was now looking at his own hand, as if it was totally and suddenly unfamiliar to him.

"Are you all right?" Jim asked quietly. They hadn't spoken since their fight in the gym, though Jim had gotten over it fairly quickly after Spock left. He knew he could be pigheaded, and Spock was right in his own stupid righteous way. He always was, really. But Spock had not apologized, so neither had he, and the two of them had more or less ignored each other's existence since. A pang of pain jagged through Jim's chest unexpectedly. He was lonely, damn it, but he'd willingly submit to one of Bones's physicals before admitting it to anyone, much less Spock himself.

Spock had not looked at him yet, and Jim wondered suddenly if he was deliberately avoiding his gaze. "If...If I may be excused, Captain," he mumbled stiffly, and was halfway to the door before Jim realized what was happening.

Damn it, he couldn't let him run away like this. Jim followed swiftly, catching Spock just as he stepped over the threshold. "Spock, wait."

The Vulcan stopped abruptly, but didn't turn.

Jim ran a hand through his hair distractedly, wondering when having a simple conversation had become so awkward. It used to be so _easy_ back then, the banter coming so naturally. Now they couldn't even say 'good morning' without it being extremely uncomfortable for the both of them, much less trade quips. Maybe they weren't supposed to work out in this timeline. Maybe this was the universe's extremely roundabout way of telling him that they couldn't be what they could have been. Well, screw that. Jim knew what he wanted.

"Are you...okay?" he asked eventually. "Seemed a little tense back there."

"I am fine," was the terse reply.

Jim snorted a little at that. "Isn't that a little, I don't know, _vague_ for you?" He reached out without thinking and grasped Spock's shoulder, intending to turn him around and _make_ him look at Jim. Unexpectedly, Spock stiffened beneath him at the light contact and all but threw Jim's hand off in a violent jerk of his arm, spinning around. His eyes were widened slightly in, for Spock, utter panic.

Stunned, Jim let his hand fall, his mouth working silently before he found his voice. "What the _hell,_ Spock?" Some of the old anger he'd thought he had set aside began to return.

"I...I..." Spock took a step backwards, then another. He finally looked at Jim, a fleeting gaze that practically radiated confusion. "I apologize, Captain. I forgot myself."

Jim stepped forward, concerned. This was a new development in Spock's behavior. He didn't think he'd ever seen his first officer look so disoriented. "Are you feeling okay? Should I send for Bones?"

Spock seemed to clutch at his words like a drowning man. "Yes, I believe a visit to the medical bay is most...logical. If you will...excuse me, Captain, I should..." He was looking away again.

"O-Okay." Jim watched Spock turn stiffly and stride away, his heart sinking heavily to somewhere in his nether regions. So he was still mad, after all. He had suspected it, though facing the reality of it hurt more than he had expected. Just because he was bad at the whole feelings thing, his brain whined defensively, didn't mean that he didn't _have_ any.

In fact, seeing Spock run like that downright _hurt_.

_Well, fine. If those are the rules now, I'll play along._

In any case, he'd always hated losing to Spock.

…

"Mr. Chekov. If you would be so kind as to inform the Commander that I have finished signing the ledgers." Jim stared fixedly at the young ensign until he turned, face baffled.

"S-Sir?"

"If you please," Jim said pointedly.

"Aye, sir." Chekov turned a little more in his seat, twisting awkwardly so as to face the science station. "Commander, the, ah...the captain has finished signing the...um."

"The ledgers," Jim supplied helpfully.

"The _ledgers_ , sir. Commander." Chekov blinked very rapidly in confusion, glancing at Jim, who nodded supportively.

"Very good, sir," came Spock's voice from behind him. Jim deliberately handed the stack to him over the back of his chair, the challenge silent but very tangible. After a moment's pause, he felt the stack being tugged out of his hands, Spock very careful this time in avoiding his touch.

Jim shifted in his seat, unable to settle the uncomfortable feeling in his chest. It was the second day of this silent war now, and it still didn't feel right at all, but Spock had driven him to this. Jim had _tried_ , damn it. He'd tried harder with him than he had ever done with anyone, but in the end it had still come to this. He could think of a few choice words to describe this situation and muttered them vehemently in his mind now.

"Captain, my presence is required at the medical bay."

"What?" Jim responded without thinking, then scowled. Well, that hadn't lasted long. Resigned, he turned. "What was that?"

Spock was already standing. "Dr. McCoy wishes for my advice on the treatment of a patient."

"The crash survivor? Why does he need your advice?" Bones had sent the survivor's medical files up to Jim after stabilizing his condition. Abrasions, second degree burns over thirty percent of his body, a fever that won't come down. Nothing that Bones hadn't been sure would clear up in ninety-six hours.

It was the ninety-eighth hour now, by Jim's reckoning.

"The doctor has discovered several unfamiliar chemical substances on the patient's person, Captain. He has asked me to run some tests in the laboratory." Spock was still not looking at him, Jim noticed bitterly.

He fiddled with the edge of his shirt to keep himself from balling his hands into fists. Or possibly punch Spock in the eye. "You're dismissed, then, Mr. Spock."

"Yes, si-"

"And I'm coming with you," Jim continued.

Spock's eyebrow ascended to the heavens. "If I may inquire the reason...?"

Jim shrugged, searching for something to say. "Um. I haven't seen the...the patient since you brought him aboard. I should at least know how he's doing, right?"

Spock, after a moment of deliberation, nodded reluctantly. "Yes, I believe you are correct."

"Good!" Jim jumped up, rubbing his hands together distractedly. He caught sight of Uhura looking at him strangely, though she looked away quickly when Spock turned her way.

He led the way out, determined to not let Spock set the pace. Predictably, Spock fell in line behind him, never walking beside him.

Bones was waiting for them in the bay, looking older than he was with exhaustion. "His vitals are all over the place," he complained immediately upon their entrance. "I've been-" he interrupted himself with an aggravated yawn, "-damn it, I've been up the whole time making sure he doesn't crash. Not that I haven't had practice." He looked at Jim pointedly.

"Where is he?" Jim looked around expectantly.

"Back room. Don't want idiots barging in and disturbing him." Bones gave another stink eye and gestured at Spock. "Samples are in my office, Commander, let me know what you find."

Spock excused himself, and Jim tried to follow, only to find Bones barring his way. "Sorry, kid, no visitors today."

"Come on," Jim complained. "Spock got to go!"

"The hobgoblin isn't human," Bones said bluntly. "The patient is officially on quarantine from us Terrans."

"What, he's _sick_?"

"Not strictly speaking." Bones hesitated, clearly weighing how much he wanted Jim to know, then sighed. "He's got _something_. And it's not the cold, or the flu, but damn it if I can't get his fever to go down. I've got him on isolation, just in case, and he's doped up to his ears so he won't be going anywhere soon. Not until I've fixed him."

"You're sure it's a human thing, right?" Jim asked worriedly. "You did just send Spock in there-"

Bones waved a hand impatiently, "I'm sure, yes, that's the only God damn thing I'm sure of right now. You best be on your way. For all you and I know, you're deathly allergic to this thing, whatever it is."

"That can't be medically correct-"

"Later, Jim." And Bones shut the doors on him.

Jim stared incredulously at the doors. _He did not just_ -

"Captain!"

He turned to see Uhura striding towards him, a glint in her eye that he suddenly did not desire to explore. "Lieutenant," he greeted warily. "Is there something you need-"

"I would like a word with you," she interrupted smoothly, flashing an almost predatory smile. "Unless you are busy, of course." _You're not_ , said her eyes.

"Of course." The corridor was mostly empty, except for a couple of medics chatting by the corner. Jim leaned back casually across the wall, hoping that this would be over quickly. He liked Uhura, he did, but right now he wasn't feeling like talking to anyone. Not even Bones could help right now, he suspected.

"In private," she added. Confused, Jim only nodded and led her to a more deserted pathway. _No witnesses,_ he thought hysterically, and forced himself to calm down.

As expected, Uhura got straight to the point, planting herself in front of him as if she could physically trap him in place. "What's going on with you and Spock?"

"Nothing," Jim answered automatically, then winced. Obviously, she could tell that something was going on between them. God, what if the whole crew knew?

"It was the crew that sent me," Uhura told him.

"You need to stop that," Jim said, with a nervous laugh. "Did the Vulcan thing rub off on you or something?"

Uhura looked supremely unamused. "They're worried about you, Jim. You've been acting...off. You and Spock both."

"He started it," Jim muttered, aware of how childish he sounded. But it was _true_.

"Then end it. You can't go like this."

His temper was starting to rise. "Look, you can't tell me to just ignore how he's been acting. You've noticed too, haven't you? Hell, _I've_ noticed, and I'm not exactly Mr. Get In Touch With Your Feelings, am I?"

"And you're fine with that? Now knowing why he's acting the way he is?"

His anger deflated as suddenly as it had flared, and he avoided her penetrating gaze. "Why should I care, anyway? Spock's allowed to do what he wants."

"Uh huh. How do you _really_ feel?"

"That is how I feel! If he wants to run away from me, that's fine. If he hates me, that's fine. He doesn't owe it to the universe to be my friend."

"Is that how it is?"

"Yeah!"

"Really."

" _Yes_."

Uhura stepped close, and looked right up into his face. He stared back resolutely, determined to not fold before her.

"Then why do you look like that?" she asked softly.

Jim, caught off guard, resisted the urge to touch his own face. "W-what?"

"You look sad, Jim, when you think no one's looking. And lonely."

He opened his mouth to deny it, then closed it uncertainly. And Uhura just kept looking at him, so damn understanding. All he wanted was for Spock to understand, really. Understand that Jim couldn't leave him alone because-

"I don't want this to continue," Jim admitted. "It's eating me up inside, not knowing what's wrong with him."

Uhura gave him a scrutinizing look and unexpectedly smiled, raising a hand to cup the side of his face affectionately. He blinked in confusion, yet felt some of the tension in his shoulders release at her touch. "It'll be okay," she said quietly. "He doesn't hate you."

"But how do you _know_?" Jim asked, feeling unbelievably frustrated.

She regarded him compassionately, her smile softening almost sadly. "I know, Jim. Believe me."

"I just want us to be how we were. Whatever we were. I'm not..." he swallowed, "I'm not the captain without him. I can't be who I was before."

"You're still you, Jim."

"Not without my first officer, I'm not."

Uhura gave his cheek a brisk, almost sharp pat and pulled away. "Then you know what you have to do, don't you?"

"Um?"

She sighed impatiently. "Look, Jim, I don't want to have to spell this out for you, but it seems like you're not going to get it unless I do."

"Huh?"

"This is coming from me, okay? Spock's ex-girlfriend, so listen up. He won't get it unless you go after him. That's just how he is. He'll think he's making the right choice by giving the choice to you, which means that he'll never make the first step.

"So what do I do?" Jim asked, trying not to think about how weird this was all becoming.

"Corner him. Make him talk to you. He will, if you give him the opportunity."

"Is that what you did?"

"Something like that." She reached out and gave his hand a hard squeeze. "Just tell him."

Jim blinked. "Tell him what?'

"What you just told me." Her eyes suddenly shifted past him warningly, and suddenly Jim realized what was happening. He spun around and met Spock's wide eyes. The Vulcan was standing at the end of the corridor, barely ten feet away from them.

"Spock," Jim heard his own voice saying dimly. "Hey."

"Captain," Spock replied warily. "Lieutenant," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"Commander," she answered, and the three of them stood in silence for a tense six seconds, Jim wishing fervently that he was anywhere but here. "Well, I'll be off," Uhura said finally.

"Me too," Jim said quickly, but she fixed him with a beady eye. "No, I don't think you have to go yet. Captain." He winced at the silent suggestion. "No, no, I think I have to-"

"You don't."

Jim nodded reluctantly in defeat. "You're right. I don't."

"Right." Looking more satisfied than she should, Uhura nodded politely at Spock, flicked her ponytail over her shoulder, and sauntered off down the corridor.

Which left Jim alone with Spock.

He shuffled his feet awkwardly and coughed. "Well."

Spock was silent, considering the floor between his boots very seriously. "I should be on my way," he said at last. Jim almost agreed, but the mental image of Uhura hanging him by his balls after finding out he didn't even try suddenly came upon him.

"Where to?" he inquired, hoping that he could detain Spock for at least another thirty seconds.

Spock gestured vaguely to his right and said nothing.

Well, there goes _that_ plan.

"Captain, I really should-"

"Chess!" Jim blurted, his panicked mind landing on the first thing that he could think of. "Uhura mentioned that you play."

Spock finally looked at him, if only to express his incredulity at such a subject jump. Their eyes met for a shocking two seconds before Spock's gaze wandered to somewhere between Jim's eyebrows and his hairline. "I do, on occasion."

Jim stepped forward eagerly, ignoring Spock's minute retreat with forced cheerfulness. "You know, I think I have a set laying around somewhere. Gift from some embassy somewhere. Maybe later-"

"Perhaps another time, Jim."

Jim faltered, his blithe mood flickering. "Oh."

"I must go now." Spock took two steps, then hesitated and turned halfway. "Jim-"

"No, no, go." It was Jim's turn to avoid his gaze, waving his hand in a "get on with it" motion. "You'll be late." _To whatever it is that you made up to get away from me,_ he added silently.

Spock lingered for another long moment. Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw him nod curtly and turn on his heel. He closed his eyes, waited for Spock to walk away before he faced his own humiliation.

His eyelids washed with red and he snapped his eyes open. An alarm was blaring somewhere, red lights flashing at intervals down the corridor. His communicator blazed to life almost at the same time as Spock's.

"Jim!" Bones was yelling, his voice panicked.

"What's wrong?" he demanded, keeping an eye on Spock, who was answering his own distress call.

"Lassiter made a run for it-" something crashed in the background and Bones turned away to shout a muffled, "Damn it, Keeler, pick that up!"

"Who the hell is Lassiter?"

"My patient," Bones snapped in exasperation. "Just up and snapped out of a medically-induced coma. I've never seen it before."

"Where's he gone?" Jim asked, when Spock snapped shut his own communicator and said, "He's in engineering. I have contacted security."

"We'll get him back, Bones," Jim said into the communicator.

"Watch out, Jim, he's gone wild-"

"We'll be fine." Jim ended the call. One severely injured man who just came out of a coma couldn't be that hard to handle, he reasoned. Just Bones being paranoid again.

He met Spock's eyes. "Let's go."

* * *

Chapter Five

Jim wondered, not for the first time, how much Spock had really heard in the corridor. He certainly wasn't acting like he'd been jerking Jim around for the past two weeks now. If anything, he seemed almost back to normal.

It figured that the one thing it took to fix the both of them was a ship wide emergency.

They wheeled around the corner, matching stride for stride, and only when he saw the steel hatch did Jim realize where they were headed. He faltered for a moment, long enough for Spock to shoot ahead. The Vulcan slowed when he realized what had happened, looking over his shoulder in concern. "Jim?"

Jim shook his head fiercely. No. He was okay now. So what if he hadn't set foot in the place in weeks? He was fine. "Nothing. Just out of shape," he joked weakly. Spock's eyes narrowed, but he nodded and palmed the door open.

"Phasers," Jim said quietly as they slipped through, pulling his own from his belt. The air was noticeably warmer here, the air thrumming with energy and the pulse of the ship's heartbeat. Steam exploded out of a vent by Jim's face, and he tried not to flinch at the hissing white cloud.

"Ready," Spock whispered, surprisingly close to Jim's ear. He glanced sidelong at his first officer, who stood in the same half crouch stance as himself. The narrow catwalk they stood on forced them to stand almost shoulder to shoulder.

For some reason, Jim edged forward until he was no longer standing so close to Spock. Jets of steam puffed across the pathway as they inched forward, shrouding their legs in mist from the knees down. Unidentified clanking echoed overhead and below, the occasional vibration shivering along the metal catwalk.

Jim caught a glimpse of a small figure below, darting out from under a pathway and disappearing into a cloud of steam. "There!" he called, leaning over the rail. There was another catwalk a short drop below, intersecting the platform he stood on now just so. "Come on." He braced himself on the rail, hoping fervently that he hadn't misjudged the distance.

"Captain, I do not advise-"

"Damn it, he's getting away." Jim kicked against the floor and vaulted over the rail, Spock's startled shout cut off as his ears filled with rushing blood.

His boots clanged solidly against the platform, his knees almost buckling, but he remained upright, swaying a little with vertigo. This was all feeling too familiar. Wasn't this where he and Scotty had fallen, racing to the warp core so many days ago? His stomach lurched incomprehensibly, and he shook his head to clear the instinctive anxiety. "I'm fine!" he called up at Spock's pale face, peering down at him. "Get down here!"

He was running for the steps even as he heard Spock land behind him, searching frantically for the patient-Lassiter, was it? The sooner they found him, the sooner Jim could get the hell out of here. Put this place behind him.

The belly of the ship was an organizational disaster. Jim thought he saw a flutter of white hospital gown disappearing around a corner and sped up, ignoring Spock's calls for him to return. No way in hell was he going to mess this one up. His heart rate was accelerating, only partly due to the exertion. His body was remembering what had happened even here, even as his mind denied it. He felt like vomiting, phantom heat building in his limbs, growing heavier and heavier as poison raced through his veins-

And then Spock sped past him, a blur of black and blue and pumping arms. Jim gaped, his discomfort momentarily forgotten, then scowled. _The bastard_.

He pinwheeled around the corner, ready to skin Spock for trying to pull whatever stupid thing he was trying now, and skidded to a halt.

Spock was standing stock still, barely two feet away from him, and no more than six feet away from him was Lassiter.

Or, Jim assumed it was. The man looked nothing like the wreck Jim had glimpsed leaving the transporter room; if anything, he looked almost worse. He stood in a feral crouch, fingers flexing in hard claws and bloody bare feet tracking red stains on the floor. A tattered hospital gown hung from his emaciated frame, one sleeve hanging off his shoulder. His skin carried a shiny sheen of sweat, face flushed with fever and contorted in pure animalistic hatred.

"There's something wrong," Jim heard himself saying, through the pounding panic racing through his mind. He had to get out, had to leave- _No, damn it, you're_ fine _,_ he growled to himself.

"Clearly," Spock replied acidly.

Lassiter shook his head, growling low and deep in his chest. The whites of his eyes were blood red, strings of foam-flecked saliva dripping from his bared teeth.

"Captain, stand back," Spock ordered, moving an arm out from his side to bar Jim.

"Bullshit," Jim snapped, slapping the barrier aside and shouldering next to him. "Mr. Lassiter," he called, raising his phaser warily. "Can you understand me?"

The man's head swayed dangerously, zoning in on Jim's face. He distantly heard Spock speaking into his communicator, ordering security down immediately, but didn't dare to look away. Lassiter looked like a rabid dog, pink foam bubbling at the corners of his bloody lips. Jim had seen rabies before, back in Iowa, and it was _bad_.

"Just calm down, Mr. Lassiter," he said, though he knew the man was beyond understanding. "We're here to help you."

"Jim," Spock said warningly again, attempting to shepherd Jim backwards. He swatted his hand away again irritably. "Spock, I can handle this." God, why was he acting like his babysitter all of a sudden? Jim could take care of himself.

Lassiter charged forward, head lowered like a bull's and snarling mouth wide open. Jim caught a glimpse of bloody, glistening teeth before instinct took over and he fired. Red arcs of energy jolted across Lassiter's torso, sending his arms rigid and his eyes rolling back for a stiff second before he collapsed.

Jim let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding, and lowered the phaser. Spock was likewise frozen beside him, one hand outstretched as if he had meant to shove Jim out of the way. He probably had. Jim felt a stab of irritation before he glanced up and saw where they stood.

That damn glass door.

His knees nearly buckled before he caught himself, one arm bracing against the wall. _Damn it damn it calm down Spock's right there. He'll see._

Spock, who was bending down next to Lassiter now, checking his pulse. Spock, who could be such an ass but was still Jim's friend, even if he didn't want to be. Spock, who had been with him right here, watching him die.

Jim took a shaky breath and straightened. He could hear the pounding steps of security hammering down the steps. Someone needed to call Bones, tell him everything was okay. Except it wasn't, was it? He turned firmly away from the door and began to trudge back to the stairs.

"Captain?" Spock called from behind him.

Jim lifted a hand wearily without turning around. "Going to get my beauty sleep, Spock. It's been a long day."

He dreaded the night before him.

…

Spock had barely entered his quarters when his communicator beeped at his belt. He paused, eyes fluttering shut in a brief moment of frustration, and hoped fervently that it would stop. After Jim had departed, he had assisted in the removal of the patient, clean-up of the surrounding area, and mollified the indignant doctor ("Damn it, man, I said _find_ him, not shoot him!")

When the communicator continued to sound, he took a cleansing breath and answered it.

"This is Commander Spock."

 _"Spock."_ Jim's voice was strangely muddled. Spock frowned, wondering if his communicator was malfunctioning. _"Spock, where are you?"_

"I am in my quarters, Captain. Do you require my presence?" He was not certain what he wanted Jim to say.

_"Huh, yeah. I sure do, Spock. Get your ass over here pronto."_

Spock felt his frown deepen. Something about Jim's voice did not sound right. "Are you in your rooms, Captain?"

_"Don't call me that. And where else would I be, huh?"_

Spock stood. "I am on my way."

He reached Jim's rooms to find the doors firmly shut and no Jim waiting outside. Though he was largely unsurprised by this, the thoughtlessness planted a spot of irritation in his overall anxiety.

He spoke into the intercom politely. "Captain?"

Silence.

Spock called several more times before resorting to rapping sharply on the door. "Captain, are you there?"

When he did not receive a reply, Spock began to consider breaking the door down. "Jim-"

"Nope," came the muffled reply. "Jim's dead, remember?"

Spock sighed heavily, with great relief and equally great aggravation, reaching for the keypad. "Jim, your behavior is most juvenile."

Silence. Spock found, to his great annoyance, that Jim had locked him out. If he had been summoned only to be snubbed, he would be very aggrieved. No matter. He deftly typed in a code he had reserved for emergencies such as this and the doors opened smoothly.

The room was dark, all lights doused. The smell of scotch was strong in the air. Spock frowned with distaste and concern. Jim did not usually drink this heavily...where had he even gotten the alcohol?

"Scotty's," said a hoarse voice, as if its owner had read his thoughts. "He'll kill me when he finds out, but what the hell. I've been dead before."

The voice had come from somewhere within the darkness. "Lights," Spock commanded, made impatient by the situation. The computer obliged.

Spock stared, aghast, at the wreckage of Jim's quarters. Furniture lay strewn across the floor, shattered styluses and PADDS scattered carelessly. A bottle had been smashed, its contents spilled in an amber puddle amidst shards of broken glass. And sitting slumped in a corner, wearing only his black trousers and clutching a half-empty bottle loosely in one hand, was Jim.

He looked up at Spock, hair mussed and skin drawn and eyes faded. "Hey, Spock," he slurred, a crooked, twisted grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Didn't think you'd come."

How had he managed to get himself in such a state? Spock had left him just hours ago, a smiling, laughing man who had excused himself to bed...to get his "beauty sleep", he had said. Spock hardly recognized this specter before him, but it reminded him painfully of the crumpled form lying behind a sealed glass door, so close and yet so completely unreachable.

Spock crossed the room in three long strides and knelt, tugging the bottle gently from Jim's hand. Jim didn't seem to notice, or care. "It helps," he told Spock, as if trying to explain something very basic to an infant. "Really, it does. The scotch, I mean. Helps to forget." He coughed once wetly, his shoulders shaking with the spasm.

"The doctor-"

"No. Bones...Bones is too good a guy sometimes. Not like you, Spock. You're in the gray, aren't you? Just like me. God, I'm drunk." Jim chuckled loopily, then hiccuped.

Spock was silent while he digested this bit of drunken nonsense. "Why are you doing this?" he finally asked. Hurting himself like this, and it _was_ hurting, no matter what Jim claimed. "I am unable to understand the reasoning behind this...treatment of yourself."

A bark of humorless laughter. "I had a bad dream."

Spock blinked, bewildered. "A nightmare? Surely, Jim-"

"I try not to remember, you know," Jim continued, as if Spock had not spoken. "But you can't stop a dream, can you. It _hurt_ , Spock, hurt so bad. Every time, the dream's a bit different, but that never changes." He shuddered. "And I mean, no big deal right? I saved the ship, saved my crew, saved _you_."

Those dull eyes focused for a bright, piercing moment, staring straight into Spock's face. Spock forcibly stilled the shiver before it could travel down his spine, fighting to keep his face composed.

Jim continued, his eyes sliding off of Spock and wavering in mid-air. "I'd do it all over again any day...but damn it, Spock, I was scared. I'm still scared." His hand fisted in his leg, distressing the fabric. "And sometimes...sometimes, I can't tell what's real." His voice cracked on the last word. "I wake up and I can't breathe. I can't remember my name, can't remember if I'm dead or alive or-"

" _This_ is real, Jim. You saved the Enterprise. You are alive."

Yes, he was alive. Breathing, warm, living, and hurting. How had Spock not seen? Had could he have not noticed? He should not have allowed Jim to accompany him on the search, not when he knew where their destination lay. He should have known that not even Jim Kirk was invulnerable to trauma, to the very human fears of solitude and darkness and pain.

Again, Jim seemed to know his thoughts, in that uncanny way of his that never failed to catch Spock off guard. "It's not every night. Haven't had one this bad since we started the mission. I thought I was good...but," he shrugged, "guess not. It's hard to talk to someone when they're always running away from you, you know."

Pain flared in Spock's chest and he took a deep breath. "Jim, I did not intend-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Doesn't matter. You're here now, aren't you?" Jim gestured to his communicator, lying some feet away. "Three bottles before I could call you, isn't that sad? Why don't you actually stay a while this time?"

"I am sorry, Jim. I did not know that you suffered like this." Spock sat heavily beside Jim, struggling to contain his own distress. Everything was rushing back now-the agony on the other side of the door, seeing the light leaving Jim's eyes, knowing only then how much Jim truly meant to him, knowing that he was gone and would never know. He had thought the grief had lessened, when Jim returned, but it had evidently remained deep in his heart. He should not have left Jim to confront this alone, not when he himself was in such desperate need of someone who understood.

"I..." He could not say anything more, lest he break right there and then, in front of the very person he had sworn to never see him weaken.

Even through the fog of alcohol, Jim could still make out the pain in Spock's eyes. It was like broken glass and razors, all turned in to keep anyone from seeing. But Jim saw, more clearly than anything he'd seen before in his first officer's face. He reached out instinctively, put his hand on Spock's shoulder in a motion meant to console.

Spock tensed beneath him, though his face remained a frozen mask. _Just a little more_ , Jim thought, and swayed forward without thinking. "Sorry," he whispered, unsure of what he was apologizing for, but certain that it needed to be said. "I'm sorry I...that you had to..." He grappled with his sodden mind for words, but drink had dulled his wits and left only raw emotion roiling behind. His grip on the situation was slipping like fine sand through his fingers. Something heavy seemed to loom in the air like an oppressive cloud, just above their heads. Just waiting to happen. _Bring it on._

"No." The word was harsh and rough, made sharp by anguish and self-hatred. Jim looked up, startled by the sudden sorrow in Spock's voice, and saw that the other man was seeing something else, some other place, perhaps into another time. His eyes were suspiciously bright as they fixed on Jim's face, filled with anguish and fierce sorrow. "No, Jim. You should not...you do not know-"

Jim grabbed Spock's head roughly with both hands, pulling their faces together in an almost painful clash. They froze at the last second, foreheads pressed together, breath stirring against the skin of the other. All Jim could think at that moment was that Spock needed to stop looking like...like Jim was dying all over again. And so he had moved to silence and comfort in the only way he knew how.

Spock was, unexpectedly, the first to move, his mouth tilting forward with enough force to bruise, his tongue forcing entry between Jim's lips with an almost desperate frenzy. Hard fingers came up, scraping across Jim's scalp and gripping his hair in a stinging hold. His rough tongue scraped across the roof of Jim's mouth, inciting a shocked groan from the man. Jim hadn't expected this reaction, so full of mixed anger and need, and it was definitely too clumsy and awkward to be considered good, but...he needed to _feel_ right now, damn it, and he didn't care much about who or what.

God, he was kissing _Spock._ His _first officer._ Kissing Spock was nothing like he'd ever done before. Well, he _was_ a man, of sorts. And not even technically human, at that. The face he still held between his hands was hard and angled where he was accustomed to feeling soft curves, the kiss more dominating and demanding than from any woman. His mind reeled drunkenly under the onslaught. _WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?_ , some little voice was roaring in horror, but he had never paid much attention to that particular little voice and saw no reason to begin now.

With what seemed like a great effort, Spock stopped and exhaled shakily. "Stop this," he whispered against Jim's mouth, his voice strained and broken, but his clinging hands said something else. Jim ignored him wholeheartedly and Spock said nothing more for some time.

Eventually, his lungs burned for air, but Spock still held him tightly in place. Jim wrenched his head to the side, gasping in a shuddering breath, his heart pounding. He grunted with surprise as Spock immediately latched onto his neck, sucking and nipping hard enough to leave a definite bruise on the side of his throat. Jim made a feeble struggle at this-he didn't like to be marked-but the Vulcan growled and scraped his teeth deliciously against sensitive skin and Jim decided that, what the hell, there was always a first.

"Ow," he gasped, as the mouthing turned to a full on _bite_. He retaliated with a feeble punch to Spock's ribs that went completely unnoticed.

He could blame it on the alcohol later, when they both came to their senses, but right now they both needed something from each other, something that couldn't be explained by words alone. He could think about everything else afterwards, about the pain in Spock's eyes and whatever secret he wouldn't tell, about what really did happen down in engineering between them that had changed everything, about why Spock was doing something so very illogical with him. Thinking, later.

Jim found himself pulling at Spock's shirt, the liquid fire in his veins making him reckless and brutally straightforward. "Off," he rasped.

Spock stared at him for a long, long moment, frozen beside him. Then, something seemed to slide back into place behind his eyes, like a gate slamming shut and double locking with a very definite click. He pulled back, away from Jim, who was suddenly very cold and very confused. He reached for Spock uncertainly. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Spock brushed his hand aside distractedly and shook his head once, very slightly. Back to normal. "I apologize, Jim. I...I can not."

"Wait, what? Why?" He felt a rush of panic. Had he done something wrong? Maybe he shouldn't have...but he had been so need of touch, of reassurance, surely Spock had wanted the same? They were two grown men who just happened to need the same thing, Spock had to understand that. But then why, why was he-

"I am sorry." And then Spock was reaching for his neck with surgical precision, his face closed and empty.

When Jim woke the next morning in his bed, dressed and cleaned and with a monstrous headache, Spock was gone.

* * *

Chapter Six

Len received a very hungover, very upset Jim in medbay shortly before the morning bridge shift. He said nothing, choosing to silently radiate his disapproval, and indicated an empty bed with his tricorder. Jim heaved himself into place with a woozy groan, eyes closed. "Bones, you've gotta do something."

" _You_ need to _stop_ doing this," Len snapped, grievously loading the usual Morning After hypospray and brandishing it threateningly. Jim did not see, his eyes still firmly shut against the harshness of the world. "This is bordering on being plain immature."

"You don't know what it's like," Jim argued weakly, "Usually I can forget, but sometimes when it's dark and I'm alone, I remember. " He gave a long shudder that rippled through his entire frame. "It's so cold, but it _burns_. Everywhere it burns but I'm freezing, can't feel my hands, my feet...The drinking helps a bit. Helps me feel." He opened his eyes then and studied his hands, holding them above his face. He gave short, dry laugh. "I'm shaking just thinking about it. Look at me, Bones. I'm a wreck."

"That'll be Scotty's hooch talking," Len said briskly, pretending that he wasn't more than slightly perturbed by Jim's behavior. Len plunged the hypo in Jim's neck, expecting an indignant howl. Surprisingly, Jim took the shot silently, still examining his quivering fingers against the white light of the medical bay.

"You seen Spock today?"

The question was too far out of context to be casual. Len squinted at him suspiciously, a thousand wild ideas racing through his mind. In the end, his eyes fell on the edge of a purpling bruise peeking over the collar of Jim's shirt and the penny dropped. A heavy, incredulous penny that nearly sent him staggering into a table.

He forced himself to answer normally, "No. Why would I?"

"I don't know." There was an odd edge of hopelessness in Jim's tone. He dropped his hands suddenly, covering his eyes with a forearm. Hiding. "It's been...I don't know...Bones, I..I think I did something bad to him last night. Something I _really_ shouldn't have done."

 _Oh God_. Len sat down hard, fortunately managing to land in a chair. "Kid," he began cautiously. "Maybe you shouldn't-"

"I don't remember that well...I was drunk, Bones. I wasn't thinking...I didn't _want_ to think. And then he came in and...and we talked and the next thing I knew we were...I think we..." To Len's great relief, Jim stopped there, what little could be seen of his face flushing dark red. "Anyway. I wanted to apologize."

 _The poor green bastard_. Len felt a rare stab of sympathy for the Vulcan. He would make it a point to keep the two of them apart until this all blew over. "Damn it, Jim, you're an idiot."

"I _know_." Jim sighed irritably. "But you know how I get once I'm drunk." He did know. He had kicked Jim full in the face the first time they had gone drinking together on the Academy and the kid had tried to lay one on him. They had laughed about it later, but something told him that Spock wouldn't handle it quite the same way.

Jim continued, "I'll talk to him, work it out. It won't happen again."

God, this place was worse than a damn soap opera. Len felt a raging headache coming on and momentarily contemplated sticking himself with one of Jim's hangover remedies. But they were his friends, the moronic pair, and for better or worse he had promised to be there for them.

"What happened with Lassiter, anyway?" Jim was asking now.

Len blinked, his mind souring as he remembered the incident. "Ah. Well, you disappeared before I could tell you yesterday."

Jim frowned in concern. "What happened?"

"He passed away, Jim. Very suddenly. Went stark raving mad towards the end, bit one of my nurses and two of the security badly while they were strapping him down to the bed." Len rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily. "The fever kept on spiking up, and by the end he was hacking up pieces of his lungs. Death was a mercy, I think."

"God, Bones," Jim said finally. "Shit."

Len snorted. "Yeah. Sums it up 'bout right. We've got the body in cryo, until we hit the next station. I've hardly got the equipment here to perform an autopsy."

Jim made to sit up. "Well, thanks for the pick-me-up, Bones."

Len tsked and pushed him back down. "And where are you going?"

"I'm on shift in ten minutes, Bones."

"No, you're staying here for the morning," Len impulsively decided. "Won't do you or the bridge any good if I send you up like this."

"No, I think I'm good now-"

"You're staying," Len said firmly. "I'll sort this out with Spock for you."

The panic on Jim's face was almost laughable and he tried to sit up again. "Wait, no, don't-"

"Trust me, Jim. I'm a doctor." Len shoved him back on the bed. "Besides, I know more than you think."

Maybe he shouldn't have said that. Jim was openly curious now, and he knew very well just how obnoxious Jim's curiosity could be. "What? "

Len turned his back briskly. He didn't pretend to be a good liar; Jim and his pointy beau were good enough at that on their own. "Sorry, kid. Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that."

" _Boonnnnnes_ ," Jim complained.

"Stay put. I mean it." He had half a mind to put one of his nurses on guard over the kid, if he didn't know all too well that Jim would somehow charm his way out of it. As it was, he gave Jim another warning to stay in bed or suffer dire consequences and left the bay in search for a certain unfortunate hobgoblin.

…

Len found Spock on the observation deck, standing with his back to the door as he gazed out at swirling space.

"There you are," Len grunted, palming the door shut behind him and crossing his arms. "Been looking all over the damn ship for you."

"My apologies," Spock responded quietly, not turning around. "I did not wish to be found."

 _By Jim, you mean._ "Yeah, I figured." Len shifted his weight uncomfortably. He wasn't sure how to go about this properly, wasn't sure if he was doing the right thing or not, but damn it, he was a doctor and doctors fixed things. Fixed people.

"I saw Jim this morning," he said finally, hoping that would get some kind of reaction. Spock's head turned slightly, but that was all. "He's hungover as hell, but he...remembers last night pretty clearly, I think."

"It would be better if he did not."

Len agreed wholeheartedly, but that would hardly be helpful now. "We'll, I wouldn't say that. Usually, he doesn't remember these things, so I think you've still got a good chance."

Spock made a small noise that could have been a sigh. Len couldn't read the Vulcan half as well as Jim, but he could've sworn that it was a sigh of resignation. "I believe that I should take this opportunity to, as you would say, 'cut my ties,' doctor. The captain was not of sound mind last night, and therefore can not take responsibility for his actions."

"So, what, you're giving up? Just like that?" Len didn't believe it for one second. Not after the way Spock had acted after finding Jim in that warp core.

"It would be in the captain's best interest. After all, he does not feel for me." Spock's hands tightened behind his back.

"Damn it, man, turn around and talk to me properly," Len snapped, having finally had enough of whatever self-pitying tantrum Spock had worked himself into. God, the both of them were nothing but emotionally constipated children. Jim he knew about, but he'd never expected this kind of attitude from Spock.

"You have struck upon the very issue, doctor. I am not a human, and no matter-"

"Shut the hell up!" Len flailed his hands about his head in frustration. "You _idiot_. You think Jim will care whether or not you're human? Trust me, that's almost disturbingly low on his priority list."

Spock finally turned and faced Len. "His actions last night have only confirmed my doubts," he said quietly. "I can never be more than a companion in suffering, a friend to share the night with for comfort."

Len stared at Spock, mouth working silently for a moment before his brain caught up. "What do you want from him, Spock?" he asked finally.

Spock seemed to struggle for an answer before settling on the truth. "More than he is willing to give, doctor. But I will not take it from him, do not worry."

"It's not Jim I'm worried about right now," Len said truthfully. "You can't go on like this, Spock."

"There is nothing I can do." A muscle worked in Spock's jaw, his gaze veering off of Len and settling blankly at the wall. "I will not act on these feelings, I assure you, doctor."

"Well, damn, Spock, don't do _that_." Len ran a hand through his hair awkwardly, missing the carefully parted strands and regretting it instantly. "Could be that Jim's not a lost case, you know."

A blink of consternation. "I-"

"No, _listen_. The kid may have had his fair share of flings in the past, but he's not one to make out with the first stranger on the street. If he...ah, if you two...did whatever you did last night, that means he likes you at least enough to consider the idea, right?" Len had no idea what he was saying anymore, only that he couldn't let Spock go off on his own with this gloom and doom mentality. Len was no bucket of sunshine himself, but having a depressed first officer prowling the decks was hardly going to boost the crew's morale.

"He considers me as nothing more than a friend, doctor."

"Then _be_ his friend. Be there for him, and, who knows, maybe something will come out of it someday. Jim's...well, he's a bit messed up, all right? He doesn't know how to treat himself right because nobody's ever shown him how. So ditch the fight or flight tactic, because it clearly isn't working out, and...I don't know, _woo_ him or something." Len felt more and more out of his depth as he talked, but at least Spock was looking a bit more interested now.

"You are proposing that I inform him of my feelings?"

"Hell no. He'd dump your ass on the spot." Maybe he shouldn't have said it quite like that. At the sight of Spock's falling face, Len hastened to amend, "I mean, it's too soon for the kid. Things like this take...subtlety. You've got to make him realize it himself without knowing it was you who gave him the idea...you know?" Or least, he'd read that somewhere in one of his ex-wife's magazines.

Spock was nodding slowly. "I...see." He clearly did not. Oh well, it wasn't as if Len himself knew what he was trying to say.

He nodded briskly and coughed. "We'll. I'll be off now. Jim will probably have escaped by now, anyway, so you'd best be going as well."

"Thank you, doctor," Spock said quietly as he left. In fact, Len wasn't sure if he had heard it correctly over the sound of the doors closing. He shook his head, grumbling, and made off for the medbay.

...

Jim stared in the mirror, feeling oddly hollow at the sight of the telling mark on his neck. Spock had really done a number on him, he noted distantly, probing gingerly at the distinct incisor marks on the edges of the darkening bruise. Strange, how he didn't feel any regret. If this had been Bones or anyone else, he'd be in a mad panic offering apologies and flowers and halfhearted promises to never drink again.

But with Spock, he only felt sorry that he didn't get to properly talk things out. He never got to tell him that it was just a moment of weakness, that it wouldn't ever happen again because Jim was sincerely sorry for jumping him. The poor guy hadn't deserved to be groped like that, though he had done his own fair share of groping...but that was just in the heat of the moment.

What they had here was just a massive misunderstanding. He'd find Spock later and make it known that everything was still okay between them, Bones's "doctor-patient confidentiality" be damned. Jim would get to the bottom of _that_ story, no matter what the doctor said.

Jim fingered the bruise one last time and pulled self-consciously at his collar. It didn't completely cover the mark, and he could only hope that nobody noticed it. He had just made a thrilling escape from the medbay, complete with dodging Chapel and hiding behind supply carts and making frantic shushing gestures at the overly amused engineer two beds over.

In the end, he returned to his own quarters and began guiltily cleaning the mess he had made the night before. The smell of the spilled scotch made his recently appeased stomach rear up again in protest. A few hours of comfort was hardly worth the hours of suffering later, really. He told himself that firmly, knowing that the next time the nightmares struck, he wouldn't give a rat's ass about the morning after.

With a final grimace at his reflection, he stepped out of the bathroom and surveyed his newly repaired furnishings. He had missed a shard of glass beneath the desk, and it glittered brightly like an obnoxious reminder. He knelt and picked up the rounded disc, holding it to his eye and gloomily peering through the brown glass like a lens. Everything was so much simpler like this, he noted darkly. Easy shades of reality.

He needed to talk to Spock.

...

It wasn't until bridge shift that they met again. Jim walked in tentatively, not sure where to look, and eventually found himself peeking through his peripherals at the science station as he sat down. He caught a flash of blue, a shift of movement, and quickly looked away again. God, he shouldn't be so nervous. He certainly hadn't been nervous apologizing to Bones after that one fumble of a grope in their Academy days. Given, he had been sporting a broken nose and feeling none too charitable at the time.

After fifteen or so minutes of shifting uncomfortably in his seat and anxious foot-tapping, he decided this couldn't go on.

"Mr. Spock," he said, wincing at the forced nonchalance in his voice. "Care to accompany me down to medbay?" It was a nice long walk, he reasoned. Plenty of time to hash this out. And he really did need to speak with Bones about Lassiter. He had contacted Starfleet about the incident, and they had been as clueless as he was about the ship's crash. It had been a cargo ship, they had informed him, making its routine runs. How it had gotten this deep into uncharted space and _crashed_ , no less, they were stumped.

He stood and turned, and looked straight at Spock.

Spock was looking back, completely unruffled and seemingly unfazed by the fact that he and Jim had had a little drunken tumble. More drunken on Jim's part, but they had both contributed rather enthusiastically to the tumbling.

The bite mark on Jim's neck was suddenly very hot. He ignored it, chalking it up to intense awkwardness, and resisted the urge to cover it with his hand. "What do you say?"

"May I inquire as to the reason behind this visit?" But he was standing already, and for that Jim was immensely relieved.

"Funeral arrangements for the late Mr. Lassiter, and such. Diplomatic issues." Stuff he didn't really need Spock's help with, really, but he hoped that Spock wouldn't call him out on that.

A small pause. "Very well, Captain, I shall join you."

"Excellent."

The doors hissed shut behind them and Jim, before he lost his nerve, immediately turned to Spock. "Look. I'm sorry about last night. I was...I was _really_ drunk and I did things that I...well, that I probably shouldn't have. And it won't happen again, so don't worry, okay?"

Spock blinked at him slowly in a bemused manner. "You have no need to apologize, Jim."

Now it was Jim's turn to be confused. "What?"

"You have done nothing to apologize for," Spock reiterated, a little slower this time, and Jim realized that Spock was giving him an easy out. While immensely relieved that Spock didn't seem to hate him now, he kind of felt a little...put out.

No, what was he thinking? This was better than he had ever hoped for. Jim put on a tentative grin. "Well, good then. That's good. That's great." Jim shuffled his feet.

Spock tilted his head to the side, "Shall we?"

The walk down to medbay was surprisingly pleasant. They mostly chatted about work, but Spock surprised Jim yet again by saying, "If the offer is still standing, Captain, I would not be adverse to a game of chess in my free time." Jim swiftly assured Spock that yes, the offer was indeed still standing and yes, of course Jim would be glad to.

Thus, feeling significantly more optimistic about life in general, Jim strode boldly into the medbay, and into what appeared to be a medical hell.

He was nearly downed by a careening cart as soon as he passed through the doors, a flurry of uniform and distracted apology all he received in return for his sore foot. In fact, every nurse seemed to be bustling around the place.

"Bones!" Jim called, seeing his friend bent over a patient. Five of the beds were filled, as far as he could see, and he recognized two of them as nurses with surprise.

Bones straightened, looking distracted and more stressed than usual. "Jim. It's not the best time right now," he said, as they approached.

"What's going on?" Jim glanced at the patient Bones had been examining. It was one of the security, he noted. His face was flushed and shiny, hands twitching on top of the bedsheets as he slept.

"Hell if I know!" Bones snapped. "It started with the three who got bit by Lassiter, two who came in with fevers and twitches. Then _him._ " He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at a black body bag occupying a gurney. "Wheeled in with two more patients in the same condition, 'cept he was _dead_. Witnesses said he went off the wall crazy, running around and ending up biting those two over there."

"What, is this a plague or something?" Jim was strangely angry. What the hell was happening to his crew? "Why wasn't I told sooner?"

"Jim, I've been trying to keep five people from going nuts and eating me," Bones said wearily, by way of explanation.

"Have you determined its method of propagation?" Spock inquired,

"All I can say is, it only spreads through the exchange of fluids. Saliva to blood, blood to blood, you get the idea. You give one bite, or two, certainly no more than three that I can see so far, and you kick the bucket."

"Shit." Jim wanted to hit something. "What the hell is this thing?"

"Nothing I've ever seen, kid. I'm doing my best down here, but I'm gonna need some heavy tech back-up." Bones looked at Spock. "I'll need the labs running samples til we can get some idea of what we're dealing with here."

"That can be arranged, doctor."

"Thanks. It's a lot off my back."

"It is the least I can do."

Jim looked between the two during this exchange, suddenly suspicious. There seemed to be something behind their innocuous words, a double meaning he couldn't get a grasp on.

The patient in the bed behind him suddenly reared up, chest arching off the bed as foam and blood gurgled from his mouth. "Shit!" Bones shoved past Jim and Spock, gesturing at a couple of nurses for help. "I need restraints over here!"

"I suggest that we take our leave now, Captain," Spock said.

"He might need help," Jim said distractedly, watching as Bones wrestled the man down and threw restraints across the bed for a nurse to fasten over his torso.

"You will be of no help here," Spock told him bluntly. "Dr. McCoy has this well in hand."

Jim was forced to agree. Snide and grumpy he may be, but Bones knew exactly what he was doing. If anything, Jim would probably do an injury to himself trying to help and incur his wrath.

So he left, and hoped it would get better.

…

It was worse the next day. Three more in the bay, and Bones was no closer to finding a cure than he was the day before. He had insisted on a quarantine around the medbay and Jim had reluctantly given the order. The general symptoms were released to the crew, and everyone was urged to head for the medbay if experiencing any signs of fever.

A small panic rose when it was discovered that two engineers had become sick, well away from the quarantine area and any source of contamination. Jim reasoned that the clean-up crew had missed something while mopping up after Mr. Lassiter's escapade and it had somehow found its way into the victims' systems.

Damn it, he hated this. Hated that he was helpless to stop this thing, this _enemy_ , from attacking his crew. His family.

Bones eventually raised another issue, on the third day. "Jim. We can't hold out like this. Someone's bound to escape the bay one day, and then all hell will be loose. I'm running out of medics, out of antibiotics, I still don't know what the hell I'm deal with here." He stopped and gave a long sigh. "Look, Jim, I don't know what to tell you."

Jim held in a frustrated groan, running his hand through his hair distractedly. "We can't risk docking at a station, Bones. If this disease gets off the ship somehow…" He couldn't bring himself to even finish the thought. "Starfleet always knows about this, they've been running database searches on every possible thing this could be, and so far they've got _nothing_."

Bones was watching him, the perpetual wrinkle between his brows deepening with worry. "Jim, you need to get some rest. When was the last time you slept?"

Jim mumbled a vague answer and tried to look alert. Truth was, he hadn't slept since he drank himself into oblivion, but he wasn't about to tell Bones that. Running out of antibiotics he may be, but he was sure that Bones still had his personal stash of hyposprays with Jim's name on it.

"Take care of yourself, kid. Ship's no good without her captain."

"I know, Bones."

_But what she needs right now is a good captain. Not me._

* * *

Chapter Seven

Fourteen in the medbay.

Jim paced the length of his quarters, too stressed to sleep. Every step he took, every breath he took, was weighed with the burden of knowing that his crew was dying around him and he still had nothing to go on.

He had never felt so alone. He couldn't contact Starfleet-they were of little help now anyway, couldn't talk to Bones, couldn't talk to _Spock_ , as Bones had him practically living in the labs trying to wrangle a cure from what little they had. What they didn't need now was a captain. What they so desperately needed now was a _cure_.

Or a miracle. Jim would gladly settle for either or both at this point.

He reached the opposite wall, spun on his heel, and strode across the floor for what felt like the five hundredth time. He was getting tired of the sight of his own feet moving across the floor and knew that it was getting late, but sleep was impossible right now.

What he needed was some kind of distraction. Something to take his mind off of the hell his command had somehow become. He couldn't help but think that there was something he could have done, even as he knew that there wasn't.

He made a call.

Fifteen minutes later, there was a shuffling and a muffled call at his door. "Eh, Captain! I'm here."

Jim waved his hand wearily, disengaging the lock. "Come on in, Scotty." He sat heavily at the table, propping his elbows on its surface.

The engineer popped his head in, peering around curiously before sliding the rest of his body in. "Y'know, I've never been in here before."

"Really?" Jim asked distractedly, his attention fixated on the two bottles and glasses Scotty clutched in his hands.

"It's nice, isn't it," Scotty commented, admiring the room as he approached. Then he paused, eyes raking over Jim in concern before setting the bottles on the table. "You sure you're feeling up to this, laddie? You look half done in already."

Jim snorted halfheartedly. "I can handle it, Scotty." He was sure that this wasn't a good idea, that the last thing he needed now was to get drunk right now. That kissing Scotty was somehow a much more horrific idea than kissing Spock. That he was going to disappoint Bones again.

Right now, he found that he could care less.

He grabbed a bottle, determinedly pouring its contents into a glass. Scotty watched him, not making a move for the drinks. "It's not your fault, y'know," he said eventually, when Jim's glass was brimming full with amber liquid.

"What?" Jim feigned ignorance, tossing the drink back and grimacing at the slow burn.

Scotty gestured aimlessly. "This. All of this nasty disease business. Nothing you could have done."

"I know," Jim said roughly. He stared down at the last few drops in his glass, turning it slowly between his hands. "Six."

"What's that?"

"Six people dead so far, Scotty. Six funerals. Six phone calls I have to make." Jim found that he was suddenly blinking rapidly, and scowled at himself. "What am I going to say to them? Their family?"

Scotty did reach for a bottle then, busying himself with topping his and Jim's glasses before responding. "The truth, I guess, Jimmy. That they died in the line of duty."

Jim grunted mirthlessly. "And that I couldn't stop it from happening? Yeah, I'm sure that'll go over real well."

Scotty leaned forward, eyes fixed on Jim's intently. "Listen to me, laddie. There was nothing you could have done to stop this. _Nothing_. So don't you blame yourself anymore for this, you hear?"

"But that's the point!" Jim raged, his hand shaking and spilling alcohol over his back of his fingers. He ignored the mess, concentrating on stilling his tremors. " _I couldn't do anything,_ Scotty! I can't help but feel so damn helpless every day, _every day_ that someone else dies or gets attacked and infected. Nobody knows what we're dealing with, least of all _me_ , and right now I'm practically the least useful person on my own damn ship!" He angrily drained his glass, almost choking on its numbing taste.

Scotty listened to him, his own glass untouched. "You know I appreciate you telling me, Jimmy, but I'm not really the guy you need to see right now, you know?" he said quietly. "You need to tell Spock."

Jim laughed bitterly. "When? He's probably the most important person here now, next to Bones. They're always off together now, in the labs or the medbay. Who am I to burst in on their little Save The Enterpriseclub?"

Scotty's wispy eyebrows rose and he nodded wisely. "Aye, I see. You're feeling _lonely_."

Jim snorted. "Am not."

"And jealous."

" _Definitely_ not."

"Oh, aye. And I'm a hippopotamus." Scotty winked and drank to it. "No problem, Jim-o. You just keep telling yourself that, maybe it'll come true one day."

Jim had a bit of a chuckle at that, his heavy mood lightening slightly.

"You do still need to talk," Scotty pointed out, after a moment of pleasant silence.

His mood plunged back south, leaving a sour taste in his mouth that wasn't completely due to the alcohol. Jim sighed irritably. "Look, Scotty, I told you. I can't-"

"He's your first officer. Your right hand man. Hell, he's your friend too, ain't he?"

"You're my friend too, you know," Jim grumbled sulkily.

"Not like Spock, though."

And that was true.

To his relief, Jim didn't manage to get drunk enough to start groping at Scotty. Not that he would have, if it came down to it….he thought. The truth was, he completely lost his head whenever he got wasted enough, though he didn't think it'd ever gone to the extent it had with Spock…..

He firmly took his mind and steered it away from that dangerous train of thought. Spock seemed to be a sore subject for him, and he didn't want to ruin the pleasant buzz he'd gained from a couple of hours in Scotty's company. He liked the little engineer. He was funny, witty, amusingly blunt, and blessedly uncomplicated.

Jim had had enough of complications.

…

The next day, he decided to take Scotty's advice. What the hell, Spock would probably just nod at him seriously, declare him illogical, and command him to putter off and pursue more useful activities than moping around feeling sorry for himself.

The thought was morbidly cheerful, for some reason, and Jim trotted off to do just that.

Then he saw the yeoman at the end of the otherwise empty corridor.

He was small and thin, almost the size of Chekov, and somehow this caught Jim's attention. Jim stopped and watched, fixated for some unknown reason, as the yeoman stumbled, then lurched straight again, limping oddly around the corner.

Jim followed. He felt a familiar prickle of apprehension across his skin, some innate sense warning him that something was off. He rounded the corner, readying himself to call out to the man.

The yeoman was huddled against the wall a short way down the corridor, head buried in his arms. As Jim approached cautiously, he saw that the man was rocking on his heels, incoherent mutterings muffled by his red sleeves.

"Hey," he said uncertainly, stopping at a safe distance. The yeoman ignored him, continuing to tilt back and forth. Was he sick? Jim let his hand move slowly to his communicator, ready to call Bones at the yeoman's first aggressive move. It would be okay, as long as Jim didn't let himself get bitten. He was almost confident that he could knock the guy out before he got chomped. Almost. And if that failed, he could always resort to hightailing it down the corridor.

Feeling slightly better about his chances, he shuffled a little closer. The yeoman's head snapped up, and swollen red eyes glared at Jim. He froze. "Hey there," he said cautiously. "Are you-shit!" He stumbled back as the yeoman suddenly lunged forward, hands flying out and fingers hooking into the bottom of Jim's pants.

Jim toppled over, landing hard on his elbows with a grunt, and kicked the now screeching yeoman in the face as he tried to claw his way up Jim's body like a squirrel up a tree. His foot connected with a satisfying crunch, and the yeoman reared back with a howl.

Jim skittered backwards, fumbling at his belt as the yeoman wailed and clutched at his bloody face. Shit, the communicator had fallen. He saw it lying just behind the yeoman, who was now shaking his head groggily. Drops of bright red blood splattered the floor sickeningly. Jim pushed himself to his feet, backing away slowly. The yeoman looked terribly diseased, now that Jim could see him properly. Foam dripped from his bared teeth, mingling with the scarlet trails staining the lower half of his face. Erratic growls jerked from his throat, sounding barely human.

Jim backed straight into the wall, his back meeting the metal with a light thump. The yeoman's face jerked towards him, sending an arc of scarlet droplets flying, and snarled.

Jim dodged under the first wild swing, grabbing the yeoman's extended arm with both hands and yanking him down. Face met the wall with a considerably wetter crunch than the first, and the yeoman crumpled slightly at the waist. Jim let go hesitantly, unsure if that had done the trick, and yelped as the yeoman swiped at him again, ripping the front of his shirt with the force of his swing.

Jim turned and ran. He heard the yeoman stumbling after him and slowed slightly, letting him catch up. When the clanging of footsteps against the floor was almost upon him, he threw himself to the side, almost crashing into the wall again, and let the yeoman careen past. He pushed off, gave the yeoman a kick in the back for good measure, and launched himself at the communicator.

He scooped it up and was flipping it open when the yeoman's head smashed into his spine, bowling him forward. He banged his head hard on the floor as he went down, the side of his face exploding with pain. His communicator flew out of his hand, turning end over end in the air, and skittered away down the corridor.

All of Jim's last hopes went with it. He felt a searing pain burning into his shoulder and yelled, thrashing wildly beneath the yeoman. _Shitshitshitnopleaseno_ -

"Oi!" Someone shouted. _Finally_. He was really going to have to talk to someone about the response time down here.

The yeoman snarled and screamed and Jim heard approaching footsteps and shouts. _Too late, I'm screwed._ He felt like laughing and crying at the same time. His shoulder hurt like hell, white hot pain throbbing and radiating with his pulse. The poison was spreading already, courtesy of his betraying heart beat. He was getting dizzy, his vision flickering gloomily at the edges.

The heavy weight on his back disappeared and a hand was shaking him, rolling him over. Bones was going to kill him, was his last thought, and all was black once more.

…

Jim woke to a pounding headache and the feeling that his brains were about to seep out his nose. "Grahhhhh," he groaned coherently.

"I would advise against moving," came a quiet voice from beside him. Jim blinked, turning his head too quickly and wrenching a surge of pain from his right shoulder. He clenched his teeth through it and squinted through forming droplets of sweat at Spock. "Hey."

Spock was sitting at his bedside, face completely pale and too still for Jim's liking. He looked composed at the best of times, now he was practically a statue. "What," he was saying now, still in that strangely even voice, "were you thinking."

 _Oh God, he's super pissed_ , Jim realized. Well, he'd be, too, if their positions had been reversed. Except that Spock was immune to the-

 _Shit_. Reality suddenly set in like a sledgehammer to his head. Jim opened his mouth to respond, not knowing what he could possibly say, but decided in his usual brash manner to have a go at it anyway.

A flurry of hasty footsteps, and suddenly the curtains around his bed were jerked aside, Bones leaning over him with worry etched into every line of his face. "Jim, you _idiot_."

"So I've heard." Jim shifted slightly and winced through another jagged wave of pain. "How bad is it?"

Bones ran a hand over his face, coming out looking even more stressed. "Pretty damn bad, kid. He got you good, almost to the bone. Not to mention the concussion."

"Is he...?"

"Dead. About twenty minutes after they pulled him off of you. They burn out quickly after initiating infection." Bones looked like he was about to say more, but Spock unexpectedly interrupted.

"Doctor. Could you give us a few minutes alone?" It was not truly a request, and Bones bit back whatever acidic response he would have made at any other time and backed away through the curtains, giving Jim one more distressed stare before the white fabric swished back into place.

"That was rude," Jim said quietly, not daring to meet Spock's eyes. He fiddled instead with the sheets, concentrating on not disturbing his shoulder.

He almost heard the faint snap of Spock's control breaking. In one movement, Spock was looming over him, palms slamming down on the edge of his bed. Jim winced as his shoulder was jostled and opened his mouth to tell Spock off.

"I think," Spock said, his voice dangerously low, "that I am entitled to some amount of rudeness. _Captain_."

Jim winced again, for a completely different reason. Spock looked demented, his eyes flashing furiously and the corner of his mouth twitching with anger. Jim didn't think he'd ever seen Spock this mad at him before, not even the time he'd provoked him intentionally. "Spock-"

"You threw yourself in danger's path, Jim. You were _bitten._ You-" Spock closed his eyes, took two deep breaths, and continued in a calmer voice. "You were injured."

"I'm going to die, you mean. Just say it, it's not like-"

"No!" Spock's eyes snapped open, his fingers digging hard into the mattress by Jim's arm. "You are not going to die."

Jim stared at him, wondering if he'd finally driven Spock crazy. "Look," he said carefully. "Denying it's not going to change it. He bit me, Spock, and we all know what happens to people who get bitten." It was almost strange how calm he felt.

" _No._ " Spock pushed away from the bed, his hands clenching into fists at his side. "No."

"Spock."

"You will not die, Jim," Spock insisted. "There has to be some way, a cure-"

"If there was, don't you think we would have found it by now?" Jim said harshly.

"The doctor-"

"Bones can't save me!" Jim realized he was almost yelling, and lowered his voice. "He can't save me, Spock, and neither can you. Just accept that."

Something broke down behind Spock's eyes, shattering whatever walls he had shoved up around himself these past few weeks. And as Jim watched, shocked, Spock lowered his head, shoulders trembling. When he looked up again, the angry lines on his face had softened into a state of vulnerability Jim had never seen him in before. "You can't," Spock said in a small voice, sounding so damn human at that moment. "Not again."

Then Jim understood. He reached out carefully, hooking two fingers into Spock's sleeve-the closest he had come to touching Spock since that bungled kiss. Spock swallowed hard, visibly struggling to regain control over himself. "I'm sorry," Jim said softly. "God, if I could redo everything...shit, Spock, I'm so sorry. But you have to know that you can't stop this."

"You do not understand."

"Understand what?"

Spock swallowed again, his eyes darting to the hand clutching his sleeve. "I...I can not watch you die again, Jim. I-"

A soft cough from his right. "You two done?" Bones called out, voice surly.

Jim released Spock's sleeve self-consciously. "Yeah. Sorry about that."

The doctor returned, bearing Jim's charts and an expression of mixed confusion and worry. "No problem. Well, I've got bad news, and slightly less than bad news."

"I'll take them both."

"It's the damnedest thing," Bones muttered, swiping through convoluted readings and charts. "The less than bad news is that you're not going to go down like everyone else, Jim. You've got something that the rest if them didn't have."

"What, allergies?"

"Khan's blood," Spock realized first.

"Exactly. The bastard's blood is counteracting the virus as it spreads, so that's why your temperatures aren't off the charts right now."

Jim blinked, a feeble stirring of hope rising in his chest. "So I'm not going to die?"

Bones looked at him, despair in his eyes, and the little twitch of hope dove down and died. "Your body is working against itself, Jimmy. It's been changing Khan's blood into your own over these past weeks, and soon...it won't be able to stop the virus from taking over."

"How long?" Jim heard himself say, over the sound of his racing pulse. Somehow, hearing it from Bones made it all too real. He was going to die. Even after all he went through, after dying once and coming back against all odds, one little mistake was going to take him down.

"Could be weeks. Could be tomorrow. There's no way to tell, Jim. I can't-I don't _know_." Bones's lip trembled, and he scowled fiercely as if to counter it. "Damn it all, I'm sorry, kid."

"It's okay, Bones. Not your fault." Jim stared numbly at the white sheets stretched across his lap. "Does the crew know yet?"

"I have taken the liberty of alerting the crew of your...unavailability," Spock said, "though I did not allude as to the reason."

"Good." Jim took a stabilizing breath. "Let's keep it that way."

"Jim, they deserve to know," protested Bones.

Jim slapped the bed in frustration. "You think I want them to see me like this, Bones? Dead man walking, that's all I am now."

"They love you, Jim. They need to know the truth. How do you think they'd feel, knowing you kept this from them? Spock, tell him."

Jim didn't look up when Spock said, "I agree with Dr. McCoy, Captain."

"Not Captain." Jim glanced up then. "You're the captain now, Spock."

Spock stared, his shock evident. "Jim, I can not-"

"I meant it when I told you that you were the better captain, Spock. If you were down there today instead of me, none of this would be happening."

"No, I can not."

"I could go rabid at any time, Spock!" Jim snapped. "And I don't want to go down knowing I left my ship minus her captain. So take it, damn you."

"Yes...Jim." Spock subsided, after trading a long glance with Bones. Jim slumped back in his pillows, suddenly exhausted.

"You need to sleep," Bones said quietly. "Whatever super antibodies left in you is gonna put up a fight, and it won't happen while you're awake."

"Mm," Jim grunted, feeling tired already.

"Rest, Captain."

"'Mmnotthecaptain," he tried to mumble, and then he was floating away again.

…

Spock watched Jim as he fell into a fitful slumber, his brows furrowing and muscles twitching as whatever dark, ill dreams troubled him. Already, he looked smaller, more gaunt, with pronounced shadows beneath his eyes and hollow cheeks.

Jim flinched again, lips parting in a dry mumble, and Spock found himself lifting a hand hesitantly, fingers outstretched. He froze as Jim grimaced and grumbled wordlessly, then continued until his fingertips hovered uncertainly over Jim's face.

One look. That was all he wanted, to make sure Jim's mental state had not yet been infected. His heart gave a painful twinge and he shoved the pain away almost violently. No. Jim could still be saved.

With that firmly in his mind, he pressed his fingers to Jim's psi-points and melded.

He did not expect what happened next.

He drifted briefly in a golden sea of fire that burned, but embraced instead of damaged. Jim was all around him, touching him caressing him living breathing it was so _warm_ , Spock could have drifted there for the remainder of his existence. He stirred only to delve cautiously deeper, past the blurry fringes of Jim's consciousness, and-

-and Jim looked back.

Awareness flooded Jim's mind as he realized Spock's presence, a subconscious reflex, it seemed, and suddenly Spock felt minuscule beneath the sensation of being _examined._ He tensed visibly, prepared to break the meld at any mome-

Jim was racing along his mind, faster than thought, following his link back to his own mind no _no,_ he couldn't let him see. How had Jim gained such mental dexterity? Jim was only human, he could not, Spock would not let him-

Jim pushed persistently, the golden fire overwhelming Spock's crumbling barriers. Spock's hand twitched, but he was unable to move, paralyzed as Jim burst through...and then he _saw_.

Saw Spock's need, his want, his sorrow and pain and fear and longing and-

Spock broke the link abruptly. His eyes flew open and he staggered back, clutching his hand to his chest. Jim's eyelids fluttered as he struggled to awaken, and Spock turned and ran.

* * *

Chapter Eight

"Look, Bones, I can't stay cooped up in here." Jim's eyes darted restlessly around him, at the sterile white sheets, the coughing, raving patients strapped to their beds. His head felt about to split from the wild howls perpetually ringing the air. "I'll go crazy before the disease gets me."

Bones considered him dubiously. "Jim..."

"I'll be careful!" Jim promised. "You know me, Bones, do you think I could hurt any one of my crew?"

"You won't be rational anymore, Jim."

"Come _on,_ I won't let it come to that. I swear, one weird feeling and I'll be right back. Please, Bones, come on, you know I can't stay here-"

"Fine!" Bones rubbed his eyes wearily. "Fine. Just...just be careful, Jim. Watch yourself." His hand trembled slightly as he lowered it from his face. "I worry about you, you know," he said quietly.

Jim put a hand on Bones's shoulder, giving it a hard squeeze. "I know. Thank you," he said honestly.

"You should see Spock while you're out."

Jim froze.

"He's worried too, you know. In his own way." Bones was staring at Jim oddly. "You should….talk to him."

"Make closure, you mean," Jim tried to laugh it off, but there was something dead serious in Bones's expression.

"I mean it."

Jim gave his shoulder another quick pat and backed away around his friend, heading for the entrance. "Yeah, I will. Thanks, Bones."

…

Jim had had a lot of time to think, lying there in that bed surrounded by chaos. Spock hadn't come around again after that first day, not that Jim was surprised. He still wasn't sure how he had done what he did, reaching into Spock's mind like that. He had simply recognized that achingly familiar touch and….gone after it, like retracing back to an old memory.

And then he had found Spock. His mind had been so...so...well, _big_ was the only word Jim could use to even begin to describe Spock's consciousness. Big and stark and so clear, not like the scrambled muddle Jim was sure his own mind was. Everything had had its place, tucked away neatly in little compartments, and in the middle of all that dizzying clarity he had seen it.

A shapeless, formless warmth that had enveloped himself as soon as he broke through. It was want and need and sorrow and it was all directed at _him._

He had barely time to get a glimpse, feel the maelstrom swirl around him, before Spock had broken the connection. The snap back to his own headspace had shocked him into awakening, but Spock was already long gone before Jim could collect himself.

He wasn't as repulsed as he thought he should be, after getting over the initial shock of realizing how Spock felt about him. He'd never really batted for the other team, never even considered it. So, naturally, the thought of Spock wanting him like that should put him off, at least faze him a little.

But, really, he didn't think of it as a bad thing at all. If anything, he was relieved that what Spock was feeling was at least a _pleasant_ feeling. _And here I was thinking that he hated me._

So no, he was not offended by what he had seen. It was actually overwhelmingly flattering, the more he thought back to it. When he closed his eyes, he could still feel the alien warmth around him, tingling and strange and so _powerful_. If Spock hadn't been so caught off guard by Jim's intrusion, he could have easily crushed Jim's measly human mind. And all of that power was the intensity of how much Spock _felt_.

And it wasn't exactly love, what Spock felt. Not exactly. It felt more desperate and edgy than that, harder and rawer than the softness Jim had expected. Much like Spock himself. He wondered if it was some weird Vulcan nuance, or maybe that was just the only way his human brain could translate what it was "seeing".

In any case, Bones was right. They needed to talk. Jim wasn't sure what he was going to say, since nothing in his life had ever prepared him for something like this, but he had always been an in-the-moment kind of guy anyway and he needed to say _something_. The way they'd been around each other these past few weeks-God, this explained so much-something had to give. Someone had to give.

He glanced in his mirror before he left his quarters, out of habit than anything else. The bruise on his neck was almost gone, he realized. Somehow that made him feel….disoriented. Or maybe it was just the disease poking up its ugly head. He dismissed the feeling and left.

…

Jim found walking through the corridors a difficult task. The whole ship knew by now, he assumed, judging by the occasional stricken glance he would receive or just the briefest of hesitations before snapping to attention against the wall. And all around him, wary glances.

_Is he going insane?_

_Oh God, who let the freak out?_

_Why isn't he dead yet?_

His imagination was a pain in the ass in the best of times. The paranoia of impending death looming over his head probably didn't help matters. He wanted to alternatively throw a very public tantrum and lock himself in his quarters until…Well, if it was any consolation, he probably wouldn't last much longer anyway.

He ended up finding Spock quite by accident.

Jim was turning a corner with his eyes lowered, unsure whether he was trying to avoid more pointed glares or prevent himself from throwing punches. This was his _crew_ , he shouldn't even be having these thoughts.

Death did weird things to perspective.

In any case, he instinctively tried to swerve around Spock as he rounded the turn, tripping over his feet in the process and toppling face first on the floor, or he would have if Spock hadn't reached out automatically and caught him. Jim blinked, finding himself suddenly pressed much too close to Spock for comfort. He could feel Spock's chest beneath his hands, pinned between their bodies, feel the dull thudding of a heartbeat in his side, much lower than where a human heart would be.

Then the moment passed and Spock was stepping back, folding his hands behind his back.

"Thanks," Jim muttered, still a bit shaken from the unexpected encounter.

Spock didn't answer. When Jim chanced a glance up, he saw that Spock's eyes were steadily fixed between his feet. Typical.

Jim cleared his throat awkwardly. "Been looking for you."

"Is there something that you require of me?" Spock asked stiffly.

Jim huffed impatiently. "Are we really going to play this game right now? You know why I'm here." Spock's suddenly contrite expression cleared any lingering doubts he held about what he had seen in his mind. He almost looked up, then hesitated at the last second, his gaze pointing slightly to the left of Jim's face. Avoiding him again.

"Come on, I don't have time for this crap," Jim tried again, losing his patience a bit. "Dying here, remember?"

"I have nothing to say to you," Spock said stiffly.

" _Nothing?_ I could keel over any minute and there's absolutely nothing you want to say to me?" Jim demanded incredulously. "God, Spock, what's wrong with you?!"

Spock turned away.

Jim grabbed his arm, determined to keep him from running away again. That was all he ever did, run away. Anger bloomed white and hot in his chest. " _Don't_ -"

Spock spun around, twisting his arm forcefully away and all but shoving Jim into the wall. His eyes were black with fury. "Do not touch me."

Jim jutted his chin out insolently, determined to have the last word. "Or what?"

"Jim-" he warned.

"Or _what_ , Mr. Spock?" Jim spat, struggling to throw off Spock's arm. He might as well have tried to snap a steel bar. "You'll run off? You're good at that, aren't you."

Spock's eyes were glittering obsidian. How had Jim thought them to be anything but hard and frozen and forbidding? How could he think that, just maybe, they were soft enough to let him in? "Do not anger me, Jim."

"Vulcans don't feel anger." He said it bitterly, mockingly.

"Jim-"

"And they don't lie, either. Supposedly."

"I have never lied to you."

"You're lying to yourself! I know what I saw when we melded."

Spock faltered, then pressed on doggedly. "You can not trust in your own senses, as your mind is unaccustomed to such-"

"I've melded before, you can't tell me that I'm _unaccus_ -"

"You have melded before?" Spock sounded genuinely taken aback.

Jim sneered. _Point for Jim_. "Yeah, I have."

"With whom?" His voice had lowered dangerously, though he hadn't exactly been shouting before.

"None of your business. And don't change the subject."

"With. Whom." The last word was almost a growl.

 _My, my, Mr, Spock. Is this jealousy_? Spock blinked at him in shock and Jim realized he had voiced his thought aloud.

And then the shock passed and the disdainful tone was back in full freezing mode. "Do not flatter yourself, _Captain_. I feel no such emotion."

"Oh, _that's_ right." The white anger had returned, more scorching than ever. Jim thrashed uselessly beneath Spock's arm, infuriated at his own weakness. "You don't feel anything. Just like you don't lie!"

"I told you before, I have never-"

"You can't even admit to yourself that-"

"You are an assuming, ignorant-"

"-complete _denial_ that you actually-"

"-immature, uncouth-"

"Stop fooling yourself-"

"-infantile, _stubborn_ -"

"You _need_ me!"

Spock froze, his mouth working silently. Inwardly, Jim crowed.

Spock pushed away from the wall, turning his back to Jim. "Nonsense."

"I know what I saw, even if you don't. You need me. You realized this when we were given the mission and you've been acting the ass ever since."

Spock's hands tightened into fists at his sides. "Jim."

"You need me to be by you, you need me so bad that you can't breathe when I'm gone. You need me to be safe so your heart will keep on beating. You-"

"Stop this."

Jim would not stop. Not now. "You need me to smile at you, to call your name, to be with you. You long for it so much that you can taste it when I walk by, and when I touch you-'

"Stop, Jim-"

Jim stepped forward, suddenly determined to see the shell break, to tear down the veil Spock had woven in front of his own eyes. "You want me. You want to know every part of me. You dream about it, you-"

" _Silence!"_ Spock turned sharply, his arm swinging around, and Jim knew that this was going to hurt a bitch, then Spock's hand was on Jim's throat, as if he was going to throttle him again. There was a strange bleakness in his face as he considered Jim, who was suddenly wishing that he had not said quite so much. His thumb dragged slowly under Jim's jaw, almost like a caress. Jim wondered if Spock even knew he was doing it.

"You are a lot of things, Jim Kirk," Spock said softly, voice throbbing with something that might have been despair, "but I have never known you to be cruel."

No. _No_ , that wasn't-that wasn't what Jim had meant. But then, he had originally wanted to hurt Spock. Make him feel the same pain that Jim had ever since all this started. Not like this, though. He reached up and tentatively wrapped his hands around Spock's wrist, feeling the immense strength quivering beneath his fingertips, and opened his big, stupid mouth once more. "Spock, I-"

"I do not want you," Spock said harshly, his hand tightening for a millisecond, and something inside Jim faltered stutteringly. "I do not want you, Jim, nor _need_ you, and you will do well to remember that." He released Jim's neck and Jim let his hands fall loosely to his sides, stunned and empty. His chest _hurt_ and he didn't know why.

"Spock," Jim protested, but his voice was weak. This was all going wrong.

"We will not speak on this matter again." Spock turned and stalked down the hallway, and Jim couldn't find the strength to stop him. He stood and watched as Spock continued walking, never looking back.

…

Spock slammed a fist into the wall, barely checking his strength in time before he could damage the panel. The doors to his quarters hissed quietly shut behind him, and he covered his eyes with a shaking hand. He had not meant to say...to do...any of it. It was never his intention to let it get so far, but in the proper Jim Kirk fashion, the man had ripped the metaphorical carpet out from beneath his feet once again.

He could still feel Jim's skin beneath his fingers, the fluttering pulse beating at his palm. In that moment, he had held Jim's life in his very hand. He only wished that he could continue to hold it, tethering him to the life that the brilliant soul, the golden mind, surely deserved. To hide it away and keep it from being taken or stolen ever again.

Irrationally, Spock thought at that very moment that he would willingly trade places with Jim. He felt ashamed of the thought as soon as it occurred, as it had been born of purely selfish reasons.

If Jim died, Spock would have to live out the remainder of his life without that crooked smile, that piercing blue gaze, the lighthearted shell that shielded a broken, hurting interior. Spock had beheld Jim in the throes of despair, in the clutches of darkness and pain and fear. He longed to see more than Jim had shown, to embrace and comfort and protect and if Jim died and left him again, what would he do? What could he do but wish to follow for the rest of his life?

He lurched to his bed, sat down hard on its edge and cradled his head in his hands. He should not be doing this, should not be hiding ashamedly from Jim when their time together was already so limited. But how could he confront him now, knowing that the man had laid him bare and exposed his deepest, most intimate thoughts.

Jim could never reciprocate, he was certain. Even if, by some slim chance incalculable by any form of probability, he could, time was still against them. And in the end, Spock would still be alone.

It was then, irrational and impossible as it was, that Spock's heart began to break.

* * *

Chapter Nine

Jim leaned back heavily in his chair, and took a deep breath. It was the third day after Bones had reluctantly released him, the third day he had voluntarily imprisoned himself in his quarters, and he thought that it might be getting a little harder for him to breathe now. Whether that was just a placebo effect or the disease slowly strangling him from the inside, he didn't know. He wasn't sure that he wanted to know. Some things were best left a mystery.

At least in the radiation chamber, there hadn't been much time to think about his death. Now, it seemed like he had all the time in the world. Every heart beat was a tick of the bomb, another pump of disintegrating super blood, another wave of disease sweeping through his body.

He wondered if it would hurt.

He hoped it did. He _deserved_ it. He was a selfish bastard who did stupid things and said stupid things and _God,_ he regretted that fight so much.

Exhaling forcefully, Jim leaned forward, forehead propped against his hands. He was such an idiot.

He hadn't seen Spock since their argument, and now it seemed like the stupidest thing. He was dying, for crying out loud. Shouldn't he be resolving his issues instead of screwing up? But then again, that was what he seemed to do best; screw up.

It didn't matter anymore what he had seen, or convinced himself that he had seen in Spock's mind, he was going to die. A pang of regret throbbed in his chest, so tight that he actually had to catch his breath. Regret and something else, something that made the edge sharper and cut deeper.

Jim coughed into his fist, his shoulders jerking with the spasm, and wiped his mouth grimly on the back of his sleeve. How long did he have? A week? A day? Not even Bones could tell. His friend was probably still digging through every medical encyclopedia he had, trying to fix him before the inevitable end. Good old Bones. Jim would have to remember to mention him in his will, not that he had many things to dole out.

He hoped his obituary would be good, preferably skipping out on the "he was a magnificent fellow who managed to destroy the most promising relationship he would ever have by not knowing when to shut up" part.

It took him a while to realize his communicator was beeping. Jim sluggishly raised his head, searching the room for the source of the sound. He finally located it under his desk where he had thrown it and his uniform upon entry and lurched across the room unsteadily to fetch it.

He flipped it open to Uhura's urgent call, " _Captain, you need to get up here and see this."_

Jim ran a hand wearily over his face, inhaling deeply before sighing, "It's just Jim, Lieutenant. Spock's the captain now."

 _"You're not yourself right now, so I'll forgive you for that bit of idiocy. Just get up here_." She ended the call before he could splutter his indignation. _What a woman,_ he thought wryly, hesitantly donning his uniform. He left the gold command shirt where it lay crumpled in a heap under the desk. It seemed only fitting.

…

The bridge was eerily quiet when he finally made it up. Chekov shot him a wide-eyed glance that said more than Jim wanted to see. He tried to twitch a smile back, for the kid's sake, and felt his face contort in a halfhearted grimace. It was close enough to how he was feeling for him to not try again.

Spock wasn't sitting in the command chair, he noticed, not sure how he felt about that. In fact, Spock wasn't on the bridge at all. He definitely felt something at that, a long painful tug that seemed to drop his heart to his stomach.

"Where is he?" he asked, forgetting to specify, but thankfully Uhura seemed to understand. "Working the labs," she responded, eyes wide and dark and sympathetic. Jim wanted to crawl under his bed. Instead, he nodded tightly and sat, unable to keep himself from thinking ruefully that this might be the last time.

"So what it is?"

"We received a transmission, Captain. The same message over and over," Uhura answered.

"From where?"

She hesitated. "An unknown planet, sir."

Jim stiffened. " _Again?_ " All he could think of was the last time they had followed a strange transmission to a nameless planet. "Don't tell me it's another crash," he tried to joke, but his light mood felt flat.

"No, Captain," Chekov spoke up at last. "The signal's not from a Federation ship, sir."

"Then from what ship?"

"No ship at all, from what I can tell," Uhura said, tapping away on her console. "I can't trace the source." She sounded irritated at her own inability to locate the sender of the transmission.

"Play the transmission," Jim commanded, wanting to hear this mysterious message for himself. Given what had happened to his crew and himself, he supposed he ought to feel more wary about the situation, but something in him, that cursed curiosity and recklessness that had gotten him into more trouble he could remember, wanted to investigate this.

Uhura touched a key, and a crackling, pale image flickered onto the screen. The picture sparked at the edges, the occasional jagged line of static meandering up and down.

At first, Jim wasn't sure what he was looking at. Then, something shifted, and large golden eyes opened, filling the entire screen. They were round and eerily blank, no black pupils visible against the flat amber discs. Long white eyelashes framed the orbs, finer than human hair and giving the effect of a gentle glow.

"What the hell," Jim said loudly.

Then he heard the voice. It was whisper quiet at first, then gradually swelled louder, the volume fluctuating almost artificially. It was deep and grating, more like an earthquake than a voice. The first few words were almost inaudible, so that Jim had to strain forward to catch them.

**"The hunger walks among you."**

Jim felt his eyebrow rise. Damn Spock's little habits.

 **"It has claimed six lives. It will claim more."** The voice paused. **"It will soon claim your captain."**

Jim's hands clenched on the armrests. Who the hell were these people? He stared resolutely into those unblinking golden eyes, watching a black and white break travel slowly up the screen.

Almost as if the mysterious speaker had read his thoughts, the voice continued, **"We are the listeners, the watchers, the seers of time. We can stop the hunger."**

"Bullshit," Jim said unintentionally, then shut up when Uhura made an admonishing sound.

**"We hold the cure. We can help."**

Jim tapped his fingers impatiently, wishing it was an open frequency. Who knew how long ago the transmission had been sent?

 **"You will not be unable to transport onto our healing grounds. We have secured an appropriate location for your arrival."** The voice began rattling off numbers and it was a second before Jim had the presence of mind to recognize them as coordinates.

"Shit, what was that last one?" he muttered.

"Sewenty-two, sir," Chekov supplied.

 **"The captain will come alone."** Another pause, barely longer than a heartbeat. **"With his keeper."**

"Who the hell is my keeper?" Jim interrupted loudly.

"Shh!" Uhura hissed at him,

 **"Two days' walk, Captain."** Jim blinked, realizing that the voice was now directly addressing him. He felt a chill prickle down his spine at the unnerving voice. **"Follow the morning star."** The voice paused again, in the same odd manner that it had before like the speaker waiting for some silent translator, then delivered one final line.

**"Do not be late."**

The voice fell silent. The unflinching golden eyes slid shut, filling the screen with a flickering whiteness. With bated breath, they waited for more, but when the voice began speaking again, it was only to repeat the message in a loop.

"Turn it off," Jim said finally, when it became clear that there was nothing more to hear. Uhura dutifully cut the connection and the bridge waited with bated breath. Waiting for Jim.

He gave a long sigh, hardly daring to let himself hope. If this was everything it claimed to be, it was the miracle he had been hoping for. He could save his crew, his family. He could save himself. He scanned the bridge solemnly, meeting the eyes of his crew. The people that he considered to be closer than friends, closer than family.

He suddenly wished Spock was here.

"You know what to do, Sulu," he said finally. "Punch it."

The pilot's face sagged in relief and he briskly swiveled around. "Aye, Captain."

"You can't seriously be thinking of going alone," Uhura spoke up. Jim chose to ignore the drop of title and swiveled around slowly.

"Why not?"

"Why _not_?" Uhura looked about to throttle him with her ponytail. "Jim, it's crazy! Are you going to follow their orders-we don't even know who they _are_."

"Ah, ah." He waggled a finger admonishingly. "They're the 'seers of time', remember?" He made his best spooky face, shrugging when she looked immensely unamused. "If I can do something, _anything_ , to save my crew, I'll do it. God knows that I've been useless enough."

"Jim-"

"I'm going to do it," he said firmly, staring at her determinedly. Uhura was his friend, she cared for him, he knew. He needed her to understand this. After all, he thought dryly, he wouldn't want their last words to be over something stupid or anything.

He had had enough of being stupid.

Uhura's eyes softened. "Yes, Captain."

Jim gave a brisk nod. "Good.

…

"This is crazy," Bones predictably argued. "You don't know who the hell these people are, where we're even going…...it's all insane!"

"World's a crazy place," Jim mused, thrusting another ration box into his pack. There was a constant headache pounding away at his temples, and he refused to think that it was because he was getting sicker. It was just stress, probably. "Besides, insane is kind of my _modus operandi_ at this point, don't you think? Pass me that shirt."

Bones handed the garment over automatically, then scowled and folded his arms determinedly across his chest. "I don't like it," he said tightly.

Jim nearly strained himself trying not to roll his eyes. "That's new," he said mildly instead.

"Jim."

He straightened and turned at his friend's suddenly heavy tone. Bones hesitated, his eyes flicking around Jim's quarters in a depressingly final manner. "Take Spock with you instead."

Jim felt his jaw tighten and turned back around to his bed, reaching for the supplies that still lay scattered across the mattress. "They asked for my keeper, Bones."

"And?"

Jim huffed impatiently. "Well, let me think. That would be _you_ , Bones."

"Look, Jim, it may have been me once, but it sure isn't me right now."

"Then _who?!_ " Jim demanded, frustration making his headache worse. Most of him wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bed and wait for the end, but that damned part of him that refused to go down without a fight kept him standing.

"Spock," Bones said simply. "It kills me to say it, but he'll be more useful than me down there. Come on, Jim, I'm a hypo-pusher, not a fighter."

"Who says I need a fighter?" Jim muttered mulishly.

"You don't know what's down there. Could be nothing but flower fields and unicorns, could be a hellhouse. In any case, he'd do a better job looking after you than I will."

"You're the _doctor_ , Bones!"

"You don't need a doctor, Jim" Bones said quietly. "You need a miracle."

Jim's hands stilled. His fingers were shaking, he noticed with disgust, as he closed up his pack slowly.

"I can't….I can't do anything for you anymore, Jim." Bones looked distraught. "This is, all of this, it's beyond what medicine can do."

"Bones…"

"Jim. Please." Bones reached out and gripped Jim's arm in a painful grip. "Listen to me for once in your life. Maybe it'll be longer for it."

Jim hesitated, and looked into Bones' eyes. His friend was _begging_ him.

"Okay, Bones," he said quietly. "Okay."

"You'll take Spock with you, then?"

"If that's what you want." Jim tried to sound indifferent, but the suspicious squint Bones cast his way did not bode well for his arts of deception. He honestly didn't know how he felt about trekking a strange new world with Spock at the moment. Alone. With just the two of them. There was too much left unsaid between them, and too much that they should not have said.

All in all, things were...different between him and Spock now, and Jim had no idea what to do about it.

"Do you ever feel," he asked glumly, "that life used to be easier?"

Bones snorted. "All the damn time, kid. Now get packing. I want to see you healthy stat."

"Aye, aye sir."

…

"I will do it," Spock said immediately, upon hearing McCoy's request.

The doctor nodded grimly. "Thought so." He immediately thrust a medkit into Spock's hands, flipping the lid open and pointing out the supplies inside. "See here? These are his allergy shots. Kid's allergic to every damn vaccine I have, so I've got my own special cocktails mixed up for him. Sedatives here, dermal patches are under the gauze pads…" McCoy trailed off under Spock's patient gaze. "You take care of him, you hear," he finished gruffly, snapping the medkit shut and stepping back.

"I will," Spock said solemnly.

"You of all people should know how he is, he'll pretend he's fine until he keels over. Make sure he's hydrated, and for God's sake, _don't_ let him eat anything weird down there. You remember what happened that one time in-"

"Doctor," Spock interrupted gently, sensing the deviating track the man's thoughts had taken. "I understand your concerns, but rest assured, I will put Jim's safety above my own."

McCoy paused and took a deep breath. "I know," he said, when he managed to calm down. "I know. It's just. He's _Jim_."

Spock understood. There was something inexplicably fragile about Jim. Something that spoke of breaking and shattering beneath all his strength and willpower. As brilliant as he was, as bright and warm and blazing, Spock had witnessed for himself how quickly, how unexpectedly, that light could be snuffed out.

He would not let it happen again.

When the doctor left, Spock sat on his bed, absently holding the medkit on his lap. He had taken care to not come into contact with Jim since their altercation. He knew Jim well. He knew that the man would be looking for him, to apologize. Spock did not want to hear an apology. Part of him had basked in the words Jim had lashed out with in his anger, reveling in the unbridled truth spilling from his lips. The truth he had suppressed for so, so long.

The other part had ached and keened and forced him to, in the end, run away. He had not ever wanted Jim to know, but now he did. And they could never be the same again, he was certain.

It did not matter, he decide. No matter what Jim thought of him, no matter if he treated Spock differently for the rest of their lives, Spock would not leave him. If loving him was the only thing he could do, he would do it for as long as he lived.

Loved.

He blinked at the floor, swayed by his own thoughts. He loved Jim. It was stark and clear in his own too logical mind, but somehow he still couldn't believe. _He_ loved someone. Loved Jim. Spock knew what love was, or what he thought it was. His father had told him once that he had loved his mother. Spock had loved her too, in the only way he knew how, but this was _different_. This was a burning fire that was rage and longing and despair and surely it wasn't love.

But it was.

Spock found that he was clenching the medkit between his hands and eased up before he could crack the case. With a chilling indifference that even he shuddered at, he carefully packed away his unravelling emotions and locked them up for later consideration. He must be hard and efficient now, for Jim. He would be the first officer, the friend, the _keeper_ Jim needed now.

Because, in the end, being needed by Jim was all he ever wanted.

...

Jim waited nervously in the transporter room, his pack resting at his feet. Bones and Uhura were there to see him off, chatting quietly with Scotty in the corner.

The doors opened, and Spock entered with his own pack. Jim stared at him, mouth half open. Spock met his gaze, inclined his head in a short nod, and turned his eyes purposefully to the platform.

He moved to pass Jim, and Jim reached out without thinking, catching Spock's arm and halting him midstep so that they stood side by side.

"Spock," Jim said, keeping his voice pitched low. His heart thumped awkwardly in his chest. What if….what if Spock was still….No, he wouldn't think about that right now. He was going to make amends, damn it. "I just wanted to say...what I said back then. I didn't mean it." He swallowed, tightening his grip on Spock's arm if it would carry his words across. "I'm sorry."

"Your apology is unnecessary," Spock responded, his voice equally quiet. He turned his head towards Jim, for the first time in what seemed like years, and met Jim's eyes. "You should not think too much on it."

Jim was suddenly at a loss for words, gaping at Spock's serious face. _Calm down, man, he's only looking at you. So what if it's been a while since he did_ …..

"Jim?"

"Ah, yeah. Yeah, of course." Jim released Spock and stepped back unconsciously, putting a respectable distance between them. "No problem. Not at all."

 _You sound like an idiot_.

Jim turned firmly and bent to pick up his pack. His breath hitched oddly when he straightened, and he muffled a surprisingly explosive cough in his hand. That was new. He looked at his hand distastefully and wiped the flecks of blood against the side of his leg. Shit.

He glanced up and met Uhura's eyes. She looked like she was going to say something, but he held a finger to his lips and offered a rueful smile, and she reluctantly closed her mouth. When he turned away, he could still feel her gaze boring a hole into his back. Hopefully, she wouldn't say anything until they'd cleared off. Jim had a feeling she wouldn't, if he knew her at all.

He put on his game face and stepped onto the platform next to Spock. His first officer was busying himself with his navigator, double-checking the coordinates he had input earlier from the transmission. Jim snuck a sidelong glance at him, wondering if Spock really wasn't mad anymore. He didn't think he was the type to hold a grudge, but after all that Jim had said...well, he wouldn't be surprised if Spock was still a bit ticked off. _I mean, after the way he reacted….thought he was going to kill me for real_.

Spock turned his head and stared straight at Jim, who flinched back and studied his shoes intently. Something was severely wrong with him, he decided. Jumping around like this.

He cleared his throat before he could embarrass himself further and nodded at Scotty. "Ready when you are."

"Aye, sir. Preparing for transport…."

Bones moved up to the platform's edge, tightening a strap on Jim's pack almost absently. "Be careful out there," he muttered, eyes fixed on his fingers. They were trembling slightly, Jim noticed, and felt a rush of gratitude that, through everything that happened, Bones was still there. He reached out a hand when Bones stepped back. "See you later, Bones."

Bones took his hand and shook it once hard. "You better come back, you bastard," Bones told him hoarsely, releasing him and stepping back from the platform.

Jim quirked a tilted grin. "You bet. Scotty, energize."

They disappeared in a flash of racing light.

…

"Why did you do it?" Uhura asked abruptly.

Len stared resolutely at the empty platform. Scotty and his boys had cleared out quietly, leaving the two of them alone in the transporter room. He could still feel Jim's hand in his own, burning too hotly against his palm. See the brokenness behind feverish blue eyes. He clenched his fingers into a fist by his side. "Do what?"

"Don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you. You know about the two of them, so why? What was your reason?"

"What was yours?" he countered automatically.

She hesitated a moment. "I….I loved him, you know? I loved Spock."

Len glanced at her shiftily, and was relieved to see an encouraging lack of tears. Uhura was staring at the platform as hard as he was, looking somewhere far away with distant eyes.

"I thought I loved him, anyway," she added, after a moment of consideration. "It's a funny thing, love. It changes in more ways than one."

"Ain't that the truth," Len muttered.

"We were never the same, really, after what happened to Jim. Sometimes he'd get this look in his eyes, when he thought I wasn't looking…." she trailed off, lost in memory, then shook her head briskly. "Well. It didn't take too long for me to put the pieces together. I was never what Spock needed, anyway, though God knows it took us both too long to see it."

They stood in silence together, united in that moment.

"I'm his best friend," Len said at last, with a touch of helplessness he hadn't felt since he first saw Jim wheel up in that damned body bag. "I couldn't just...the kid's been hurt enough. I couldn't let him fall headfirst into this one without, I don't know, scouting the perimeters." He blinked rapidly, trying to soothe the rising anxiety in his chest. "God, I hope he's going to be okay."

Uhura's eyes softened and she touched his arm sympathetically. "I know, Leonard. He'll be fine. Spock's with him, after all."

"Yeah, Spock," he muttered. "I still can't get my head around it."

"You sound like the disapproving mother-in-law," Uhura teased.

"Yeah, well, he ain't got my blessing yet," Len said grumpily. "So...so they both better get back for me to give it to them."

_Bring him back, Spock._

* * *

Chapter Ten

Jim fell to his knees as soon as his feet touched ground, coughing into his fist. It felt like his lungs were striking a riot, trying to force their way up through his throat. He vaguely felt Spock's hand on his back, heard urgent words that might as well have been spewed in Vulcan for all the attention he was able to pay.

Spock slung both their packs onto his shoulder and picked Jim up in his arms, shocking him back to coherency. "Stop that," Jim gasped, flailing clumsily. His elbow smashed across Spock's face and he barely flinched, merely looking at Jim with extreme exasperation and a barely restrained pissiness that Jim had always known was in him somewhere.

"Jim, you will only serve to damage yourself further if you continue to push yourself."

"Put me _down_ ," Jim snapped, in his best captain voice.

Spock's lips compressed into a hair-thin line, but he set Jim back on his feet reluctantly. He kept the packs, and Jim couldn't muster the strength to argue about that. To be honest, he felt like hell. Just being outside in the open seemed to make it worse. His throat felt permanently ravaged, a deep ache setting into his bones and making every step a painful struggle.

For Spock's sake, he straightened and tried to look comfortable. Spock didn't look as if he bought the act, but Jim turned anyway and attempted to give off the air of confidently surveying his surroundings.

Given, what he did see did deflate him a little, but he tried anyway.

They were standing on a craggy cliff that slanted skyward, the gray stone speckled with rusty lichen and red moss. Below them and around, everywhere was forest. Hundreds and hundreds of big-ass trees that clustered close together and grew strange, vividly colored flowers all over their gnarled black trunks. The air smelled strange, clear and sharp with a sweet undercurrent of perfume from the sea of blooms.

"So which way?" he asked, tearing his eyes away from the daunting sight of miles and miles of nothing but utter wilderness. There wasn't a city or town or village in sight. Where the hell did these people live?

Spock was consulting his navigator, looking slightly ludicrous with the two massive packs dangling over his shoulders. He pointed over the cliff without looking, at the pale pink dawn.

Jim squinted. He could make out...yes, there it was. A faint red pinprick threatening to fade into the lightening sky. "The morning star."

"Affirmative." Spock shifted the straps of the packs over his shoulders. "We should be on our way."

Jim took a deep breath. "Yeah."

The trek down the winding cliff face was just about as unpleasant as Jim could have imagined. The path, if it could even be called that, was barely a two foot ledge jutting out over empty space, crumbled in some places and downright missing in others. Jim worried about Spock at first, overladen as it was, but as time went on, he became much more concerned about keeping himself from falling.

For one, Spock was way too damn athletic for his own good. The Vulcan was like some sort of weird, stoic mountain goat, easily traversing the terrain even with the double packs. Meanwhile, Jim bumbled and slipped and tried in vain to not look over the edge and _God_ , his chest hurt. He felt too out of breath by the time they made it down to the forest to cough, but somehow he managed it anyway, hawking up a bit of nasty gunk and spitting it discreetly into the undergrowth when Spock wasn't looking.

Spock led the way, careful not to go too fast, but fast enough to keep Jim at an almost trotting pace. He felt honest to God awful, but chugged on doggedly. If he let Spock think for one moment that he couldn't keep up, he knew he'd be going the rest of the way dangling over his shoulder like one of the packs. He wondered derisively how the voodoo healers would take _that_ , seeing him arrive in true deadweight style.

"Good thing Bones didn't come, huh?" he joked. "We'd both have fallen to our deaths by now."

"The doctor is not the most athletic of specimens," Spock concurred, without turning around. Jim grinned at the easy response. Maybe this was what they needed, after all. Just the two of them together again, getting their noses into all kinds of places. It was almost like the old days again. He had missed this.

They settled into a comfortable silence, Jim focusing in keeping one foot planted in front of the other. His vision was going a bit blurry around the edges, the constant headache spiking ferociously with every unintended jolt, and he was somewhat relieved to not have to keep a conversation going. Just trying to keep upright was taxing enough at the moment.

…

Spock tried to not look over his shoulder as they walked. He suspected that Jim would not take kindly to constant supervision and would most likely attempt to revolt in an infantile, potentially hazardous manner. So he fretted silently and kept his eyes locked forward and listened to the unsteady sounds of Jim's footsteps behind him.

Time and time again, he bit back an offer to carry his captain, unable to forget Jim's response to the first attempt. The sheer irrationality of humans once more boggled him. Why refuse help when it was needed? But, he supposed, that was part of what made Jim who he was, and Spock would still have him in all of his human imperfection.

"Whoa," Jim was saying now. Spock glanced up from the navigator. Jim was standing precariously close to the edge of the ravine they had reached moments ago, bending over at the waist to peer down at the rushing river below. It was an impressive gorge, he had to admit, deep and wide with intimidating walls and a fast waterway frothing with white foam. However, he frowned worriedly, Jim was in an extremely dangerous position.

"I would not stand there," he warned.

"Huh?" Jim was still staring down at the river. There was an odd, dull edge to his sound, and Spock could see a faint sheen of sweat against the back of Jim's neck. He lowered the navigator, his nerves tingling. There was something wrong with Jim.

"Are you all right?"

"Uh," Jim murmured. To Spock's alarm, he then swayed forward slightly, upper body dipping into open space for a terrifying moment.

"Jim!" he snapped, his voice spiking in volume out of fear.

Jim started and swayed upright, spinning on his heel towards Spock. His eyes met Spock's for a moment, and Spock knew what was going to happen even as it did.

The edge of the cliff crumbled, and Jim fell.

…

"Jim!" Spock's sharp voice broke through the dizzy fog Jim's mind had settled into as he looked down over the cliff. His headache had worsened significantly over the past few hours, and watching the rapid river passing beneath him had only increased his dizziness. He blinked, jolted by the sudden clarity of the rushing waters far below, and straightened, turning back to Spock.

He heard the sound of the edge of the cliff breaking beneath his heel before he felt it.

He really should have seen this coming, was all Jim had time to think.

Then he was falling backwards with a startled yell, his stomach clenching in instinctive panic as the wind caught at his clothes and battered his face. Spock was going to kill him, he thought derisively.

Then a hand wrapped around his wrist. For a crazy moment, Jim thought Spock had managed to catch him. But no, he had already fallen too far, there was no way that-

_That idiot._

Jim turned his face up with difficulty and met Spock's wide, determined eyes for a split second before they hit the water. It stung like hell and was _cold_ , numbing his body before he felt the pain of impact. The river snatched him instantly, tearing him away from Spock with all the brutality of nature. The air in his lungs whooshed out in a stream of white bubbles, the rushing current tumbling his body over and over until he stopped struggling and let his natural buoyancy take over.

Jim surged out of the water, spluttering, struggling to keep afloat as the waters lifted him and dumped him down mercilessly. White foam crashed over his head, driving him underwater briefly again in a whirl of stinging bubbles. "Spock!" he shouted, when he surfaced again, feeling a flare of agonizing pain in his side as he clumsily tread water. _Shit, must've busted a rib._ "Spock!" He didn't see a dark head bobbing anywhere.

Panic replaced the pain, bubbling frantically in his chest as he gulped for air. _Spock can't swim,_ was all his numb brain could churn out. _He can't swim oh God I can't see him shit shit Spock-_

Then he saw the figure clinging to a rock downstream, the rushing waters pulling at it as they split around the obstacle. "Spock!" Jim yelled, allowing the current to sweep him forward. The figure raised its head and Spock stared at Jim with wide, frenzied eyes. He had what looked like a death grip on the rock, but as Jim bobbed nearer, Spock swung out wildly and caught him by the arm, reeling him in until his fingers met the slick stone beside Spock.

Jim one-handedly seized the front of Spock's wet shirt, pulling his pointy ear down to his mouth and hollering to be heard over the crashing waves, "Are you all right?!"

Spock looked positively affronted, somehow managing to appear exasperated while completely drenched. "Jim, I should really be asking the same of you."

"At least I can swim! _Now are you okay?_ "

"I...am adequate." Spock's hand wrapped around Jim's bicep hesitantly. "However, I may require assistance to get to shore."

"All right, okay." Jim cast an eye around them, blinking cold water out of his eyes. His head was pounding, his body not taking kindly to the abuse it was being put through. But Spock was depending on him to save both their asses, and he was determined to deliver.

There was a gravelly jut of land, surrounded by the craggy cliffs they had toppled from, not far from where they clung. "Hold on," he told Spock firmly, making sure the Vulcan was well-latched about his waist before pushing off the rock.

Through what he was sure was pure willpower alone, Jim managed to paddle them to land without drowning the both of them. As it was, he spewed a fair amount of water as soon as his knees hit solid ground, trembling on all fours on the shallows with his shoulders heaving. The coughing didn't end even after he had expelled all of the water. It began to hurt, the burning of his lungs and throat mingling with the pain from his side.

Jim felt Spock's hand on his back, heard his voice saying something about standing, getting somewhere dry. He wheezed, eyes watering, and fought the urge to vomit. Half his stomach lining would come out if he did, he was sure, maybe along with a lung or two. _God, it hurts._

Spock's cool fingers were suddenly under his chin, tilting his face up to the weak sunlight. He squinted painfully into Spock's pale face, his heart flipflopping lazily, and felt a horrible twist in his stomach. He wrenched away and spat a gob of bile onto the wet gravel. _I don't think that's supposed to be red,_ he thought dizzily.

Jim pushed himself to his knees shakily and wiped his mouth. It left a crimson streak across the back of his hand, and he rubbed it against his leg surreptitiously. "M'alright," he protested weakly, seeing the look on Spock's face.

"You are in no state of mind to claim such things," Spock snapped. He shifted until he knelt by Jim and slid an arm across his back, his touch remarkably gentle despite his harsh tone. Another hand grasped his bicep, and somehow they stood slowly, Spock all but carrying Jim farther up the shore. It had a slight slope to it, the stones clattering and sliding under their feet. Jim slipped more times than he could count, but Spock's hand was always firmly there, keeping him upright.

The shore was backed against the craggy wall of the ravine. By some stroke of luck or sheer miracle, there was a small natural alcove in the cliff wall. It was too small to be a proper cave, but large enough to provide a makeshift roof for the both of them.

Spock lowered Jim to the ground, propping him against the back of the alcove, and drew back, worry wrinkling the skin between his eyebrows. Water still dripped down his face, forming a small puddle beneath him. Jim was aware of his own soaked clothes, and also of the tremors now racking his frame. At least he wasn't coughing anymore, though he was grimly sure it would return soon enough.

"I will need to search for our supplies," Spock was saying. "There is a small chance that they may have washed up along the shoreline."

Jim tried to smile, but it ended up as probably a weak twitch. "What, no percentages?"

Spock reached out suddenly and pressed his hand to Jim's forehead. Before Jim could even register the contact, Spock had pulled away and was standing. "You are running a fever," he informed Jim. "I will return soon. Do not leave," he added, a tad bit unnecessarily, Jim thought. He couldn't begin to think of even sitting up on his own, much less prance through the woods.

He grunted in agreement and watched Spock head for the waters. _I hope...he doesn't...fall in._ His thoughts felt like mush. _He_ felt like mush.

He was getting dizzy now, the fever swaddling his head in a cloud of confusion. His teeth were chattering, but Spock would take care of that. He was coming back. He had said.

His rib threw a sudden and violent revolt in his side, and Jim quietly passed out.

…

He woke in darkness. Jim lay still for a few seconds, trying to take stock of the situation. His body felt heavy and numb, and where it wasn't numb, it hurt. His mouth was dry and nasty, his tongue plastered to the roof of his mouth. There was a silver thermo blanket draped over him; he had been moved so that he now lay on his back. His ribs had been patched up, if the bulky pad beneath his arm was anything to tell by. And there was a rock digging into his back, but he decided that was perhaps the least of his worries.

Jim squinted and could make out a huddled silhouette sitting not far from him, facing out towards the river. He could hear it, rushing and burbling in the distance. The wind started up, whirling around the alcove and chilling his exposed face. Nighttime on this planet was significantly colder than it had been during the day. He could see the stars peeking out beyond the roof of the crude cave, and the blue-white edge of one of the two moons.

"Spock," he croaked, and the crouching form turned its head. The gravel crunched as Spock moved to his side, bending over him in concern. He was wearing a dry uniform, Jim realized. They both were.

"You found the supplies?" Speaking was difficult. Something was very wrong with his lungs, he suspected. He could feel something rattling when he breathed, and he couldn't seem to take deep enough breaths.

"I managed to salvage one pack. The other had been swept off. Fortunately, it appears that I have overpacked." Was that a stab at humor? Jim was almost proud. "Do you require sustenance?"

"No." Jim couldn't even bear the thought of food at the moment. His stomach was clenching in his abdomen-if he had anything left to throw up, he'd probably feel nauseous.

Another burst of wind howled about their heads, and Spock gave a distinct shudder. Jim frowned and reached up to grip Spock's wrist. "You're cold," he accused, getting angry. At least he was still strong enough to get pissed.

"You need the thermo blanket more than I do," Spock reminded him. "And I did not wish to light a fire without further knowledge of the local fauna." That didn't change the fact that he was turning into a pointy icicle out there.

Jim gave him a firm tug. Or rather, he attempted a firm tug and ended up with what was probably a pathetic rustle. "Get in here."

"That is illogical, Jim. The surface area is too sm-"

"For the love of God, Spock," Jim burst, "get under the blanket. Or so help me, I'll hack up my esophagus."

Confronted by a threat like that, Spock could only acquiesce. He sighed through his nose and slid under the blanket. The thin material crackled as he lay down next to Jim, the small size of the single blanket forcing them to lie almost shoulder to shoulder. Spock tactfully maintained a short distance between their bodies, but the slightest movement could bring them together at any time.

It was quiet for a few moments after Spock settled down, except for the faint whistling of the wind and the rolling river. There was something very nice about this, Jim decided woozily. The cave and the river and the stars...and the fact that he was slowly dying here with Spock. If he believed in such things, he would call it fate. Maybe this was how he was always meant to go, with Spock beside him. It didn't seem fair that he was realizing this now, with time swiftly running out and no way to go back.

"You are still feverish," came Spock's quiet voice from the darkness. Jim's eyes had closed, but they opened now and he turned his head to find Spock watching him.

"You're just cold," Jim mumbled, feeling a flush of heat creep up his neck. _The fever,_ he told himself. "Come here." He groped around for Spock's arm and, finding it, pulled it clumsily across his own body. It felt like a block of ice against his burning body and he basked in the sudden relief. "Come closer."

"I...should not."

"Come _on_ , Spock. You're freezing, I'm burning up. If this keeps up, we'll both be dead by morning." He felt Spock tense beside him and wished he hadn't said it quite like that. After all, he may very well be dead by dawn. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "Didn't mean that."

Spock was silent, but he rolled over to face Jim, tucking his arm more securely around Jim's waist. Evidently, he found Jim's temperature to be most satisfying, hesitantly curling tighter against Jim's body and pressing his icy face into his shoulder.

Jim's heart should definitely not be beating as fast as it was. He closed his eyes firmly.

 _Just for survival, just for survival, he's no use to me as a Vulcan popsicle,_ his mind chanted fervently. _I like this, damn it,_ said his pulse. _When was the last time someone held you like this, huh?_ None of his bar hookups ever had, that was for sure.

"Are you awake?" Spock asked softly, his lips stirring against Jim's shirt.

"Mm," Jim grunted.

"You will be healed, Jim."

Jim wished bitterly that he had half of Spock's quiet confidence. "Spock, you should know." he swallowed hard, wincing as daggers of pain shredded his throat. He could taste coppery blood in his mouth, a constant companion now. "If I...well, I just want you to know that I...for what I said back then-"

"I do not believe in no-win situations," Spock interrupted, his voice soft but firm as steel.

Jim humphed weakly, unable to muster the strength to laugh. "Touché." He didn't try to apologize again.

After a while, Spock said nothing more, and Jim allowed himself to settle into a light and anxious sleep.

…

Spock was unable to sleep. He had not been particularly tired before, but now, wrapped around Jim's body as he was and pressed so close he could breathe him in, there was a less than two percent chance of him succumbing to sleep. Jim was already unconscious, his chest rising and falling erratically.

Every now and then, Jim would give a shallow cough with a wet edge that did not bode well, and Spock would press his face against the crook of his burning neck and channel waves of soothing reassurance through the faint mental link. He no longer felt guilty for infringing on Jim's privacy so, after the man had so thoroughly ransacked his own mind, albeit unconsciously.

Spock could feel his own body warming under the influence of the blanket and Jim's heated body, his fingertips prickling uncomfortably as the blood returned to them. It was a kind gesture for Jim to allow him this intimacy, though Spock almost wished he was still freezing at the mouth of the cave. This warmth was its own kind of torture, almost worse in that his emotions were afflicted in addition to his body.

Jim jerked suddenly, a tremor that tore through his entire frame, and a small whimper escaped his lips. Spock rose to one elbow instantly, gazing down on Jim's pain-wracked face, and bitterly wished that his counterpart had not torn time and space asunder. It was not a fair accusation, nor logical in its reasoning, but Spock was beyond caring for such things.

Jim would have lived, in the other timeline. He would have lived and smiled and Spock would not have to see him die twice in agony. He bent down, brushed his lips against Jim's forehead shakily. The skin he touched was scorching hot, damp with sweat despite the chilly night air. It would not be long now, he realized with despair.

Spock lay back down, tightened his grip about Jim's waist, and counted the reasons he loved Jim Kirk until sunrise.

…

Jim's condition had worsened by the next morning. Spock was forced to shake him to rouse him from sleep, and only then did he rise with a gaunt face and trembling limbs. "G'morning," he mumbled, still the same Jim in that broken shell of a body. Spock watched him constantly, dreading the inevitable signs of madness. What he would do if it came to that...he did not know, nor did he wish to even contemplate the idea. They would reach the healers in time. It was all he could wish for, and so he wished for it with every fiber of his being.

They had a meager breakfast of supplements Spock had only remembered to pack at the last moment. He had not anticipated their journey to take such an unfortunate turn, and now fiercely regretted his blithe mindset. Had not a Terran philosopher once commented that if something could go wrong, it almost certainly would?

In any case, Jim vomited promptly after he finished eating and cursed excessively while he unsteadily cleaned his hands and face in the shallows. Spock had scouted the surrounding area in the early morning while Jim slept, and had discovered a narrow trail that would place them more or less where they had been the day before, except on the other side of the river. They had lost the navigator, but the red star still burned above the treetops like some distant hope. It was all the hope that Spock had left.

He insisted that Jim walk ahead of him, as the trail was steep and rocky and Jim looked to be barely able to stand. If he wasn't certain of Jim's utter refusal, Spock would have thrown him across his shoulders and simply marched on his way.

He shouldered his pack and kept a watchful eye on Jim as he staggered up the slope, a hand clutching at the rocky wall for support as he took one shaky step after step. He only slipped once, and Spock's hand was at his back, keeping him from toppling backwards.

By the time they reached the top, it was nearing noon and Spock worried at their pace. Jim's condition was steadily worsening as the disease ran its course. They had not gone far before Jim stumbled and dropped to his knees, hunching over and coughing.

Spock was at his side instantly with his water flask, but Jim waved him away and spat out another dark red clump. Jim took a shuddering breath, wiped his mouth and shook his head. "Don't come near me," he croaked, his voice ravaged by the sickness. Dark shadows circled his eyes, the skin on his face almost translucent, but his blue eyes burned all the brighter for it. "Don't want to hurt you."

Spock reached out and gripped Jim's arm. "You can not hurt me, Jim," he said quietly. "And I will not leave you," he added firmly, anticipating his captain's next words.

Jim closed his mouth, somehow managing to still look amused in his state, then suddenly grew pale and pushed away to vomit a thin stream of red-streaked bile into the undergrowth. "Damn it," he choked afterwards, shakily cleaning his face once more. " _Damn_ it."

Spock watched helplessly, his nails digging painful crescents into his palms.

It was not long after that Jim finally collapsed. Spock was there to catch him before he hit the ground, despairing at the shivers that jerked through Jim's body. Jim felt altogether too small and fragile in his arms, though he had always been more stockily built than Spock. He tightened his arms around Jim protectively, lowering him to the ground carefully and tilting his face up to better examine him.

Sweat streaked Jim's gray face, his lips chapped and cracking under the constant fever that burned hot even through his clothes. A spot of sticky blood still clung to the edge of his mouth. He was barely conscious, flickering bloodshot eyes struggling to focus on Spock.

A hand clung feebly to the front of Spock's shirt. "Sorry," Jim rasped. A stronger seizure bent him almost double, then it passed and he sagged limply once more.

"Do not speak," Spock said roughly, starting to panic. Surely Jim was not going to die right here, right now in his arms. No, he felt so real, so warm against his chest, he could not possibly disappear. He could not, Spock would not allow it, Jim _could not-_

Jim's hand fell from his shirt, his eyes fluttering shut, and Spock's heart nearly stopped, until he saw the weak rising and falling of Jim's chest. He remained motionless for three more seconds, allowing relief to wash through him, then gathered Jim carefully into his arms and stood.

He continued on, refusing to let the added weight slow his pace. Jim would never be a burden to him, he had already decided long ago. The forest began to thin out as he walked, a clearing opening just ahead, and hope surged in his belly.

Jim suddenly spasmed in his arms, eyes flying open as loud, gurgling coughs seized his body. Spock struggled to hold him as Jim struggled, his wide eyes unseeing. Blood began to splatter out of Jim's mouth, flecked with spots of foam, staining the front of his uniform and Spock's shirt.

He lurched the last few steps and lowered Jim to the ground gently. The clearing was almost perfectly circular, a stone circle engraved with archaic carvings and covered with sprawling moss covering the ground. This had to be the place.

There was no one there.

This was not right, this could not be. They had come, as they had been instructed. They had done everything they could, and now Jim was dying-

Jim gulped in a shuddering breath that rattled in his lungs, and Spock's eyes snapped back down. His chest was tightening with fear and dread, his heart pounding in his side. No. _No._

This should not be happening. All the symptoms from all the previous cases indicated madness before death. Jim had not gone insane or attacked him, therefore this could not be happening. Spock took deep breaths, trying to calm himself. Yes, the evidence was all there. Every scrap of scientific-

Jim reached up shakily with a bloodstained hand, and Spock took it between his own two shaking hands immediately, clutching it tightly, desperately. "Jim," he started, and was unable to say anything else. How could he let Jim know how much he meant to him, how he had somehow bumbled his way into becoming the whole of Spock's existence? There were not enough words in Standard or Vulcan, and he doubted the same of every language in existence, nor enough time.

There was never enough time.

Jim opened his mouth, and a trickle of blood welled out, running off the side of his chin. He spluttered, lips moving almost silently, and Spock bent down, unable to hold back the hot tears now dripping down his face. So this was the end. He was doomed to watch again. Watch the light leave Jim's eyes and know that, this time, there was absolutely nothing he could do. There was no miracle blood, no convenient hypospray, no mystical healer. Jim was going to-

Jim's lips stirred again, brushing against Spock's ear. "I'm...sorry. So damn sorry, Spock." Spock pulled back, blinking furiously to clear his eyes. Jim's hand was growing cool between his palms, and he tightened his grip helplessly in an effort to contain his warmth. "No, Jim, do not...do not apologize."

"Sorry..."

" _Damn you,_ " Spock growled, beyond frustration and reason. His tears were falling unheeded onto Jim's face, dripping beneath his already fading eyes. "James Tiberius Kirk, _I will not let you die again_."

A huff of breathless amusement. "S'okay, Spock..."

" _No_ , it is not-"

Another rattling breath, this one shallower than before. Spock lowered his head, resting his forehead on their intertwined hands, and tried to gather his fraying control. "Jim, don't leave me," he whispered helplessly, his chest bursting with panic and the feeling that everything was slipping away from his grasp.

Jim's eyes met his, and Spock recognized that pleading expression. His heart wrenched at the memory of the only other time he had seen it on Jim's face.

"I don't want to." Jim's voice cracked, and he subsided into another round of wheezing. "Spock, I don't want to die." A pink-tinged tear trickled out of the corner of his eye, rolling down the side of his face. "I can't die yet. I haven't..." He broke off into a series of wet coughs, each more empty and feeble than the one before.

Spock pressed his lips to Jim's knuckles, uncaring anymore of any inhibitions, flinching when he felt how much colder Jim's skin had become. He cast another desperate look around the empty clearing and thought he saw a distant figure across the empty space, lingering in the shadows of the trees. "Help," he called, lurching hope juxtaposing with despair. " _Help him_."

"Spock," Jim choked, and Spock looked wildly down at him. "Hold on, Jim, they are coming, they are-" He looked up, the figure was gone.

 _No_.

Jim's breathing was slowing, straggling. His mouth opened one last time, cracked and bloody lips struggling to form words, to say one final thing. Spock shook his head vehemently, denying the moment. "No, Jim, it is all right." Jim's mouth twitched in an almost-smile, his eyelids sagging. Spock pressed his fingers under his jaw, feeling desperately for a pulse. It was there, just barely, weaker and weaker with every passing second...

Jim stiffened and a shaky breath left his body in a quiet, aborted sigh.

Spock stared down in disbelief, his tears cold on his face. Jim's hand slipped from numb fingers, falling lifelessly against his chest. He opened his mouth, possibly to call Jim's name, he did not know-

A hand roughly slammed down on Spock's shoulder, tossing him backwards with a careless heave. He fell back against the mossy stone as three cloaked silhouettes swarmed Jim's body, muttering and fumbling beneath their violet coverings.

He made a move towards them, and the smallest of the figures whirled around. A small, four-fingered hand protruded from the heavy drapes, palm out in a firm reprimand.

**Stay.**

The word engulfed Spock's mind almost like a physical presence, pressing him back down against the ground with its sheer force. White flashed across his eyes, his ears popping with pressure as his body struggled to acclimate to the mental blow.

Spock clutched at his head as the last residuals of the ringing command faded from his mind. It had, strangely, sounded like a child's voice and an adult's simultaneously, the pitches weaving together to form an almost grinding harmony. The effect had been completely unnatural. He had never experienced such a powerful projection before. As if the creature sensed his discomfort, the pressure on his mind lessened considerably, and this time only the young child's voice whispered into his sanctum.

**...Improvement?**

"It is much better, yes," Spock replied aloud, his mind still staggering from the magnitude of the presence.

**Satisfactionsmugnessdonotmove.**

Spock remained where he sat, and the hand withdrew, the small figure turning back. Its companion, the tallest of the three, had placed its hands on Jim's still chest. As Spock watched, hardly daring to breathe, Jim's chest rose. And fell. And rose once more.

Spock slumped where he sat, relief surging through his veins with every triumphant heartbeat. Jim was alive. _He is alive_.

The tallest figure, though still a head shorter than Spock, picked up Jim effortlessly. Round golden eyes peered out at Spock from the shadow beneath its cowl.

**Come.**

Perhaps the small one had communicated Spock's ineptitude, for the deep voice that resounded in his mind was almost muted, as if sent from far away.

Spock stood obediently. " _I do not understand",_ he admitted silently. " _The madness did not strike-"_

The hands on Jim's chest moved to touch his face gently, curiously.

 **This one has resisted the hunger**.

The creature shifted Jim in its arms. The figure of middle height turned to regard Spock.

**You are much loved.**

This one sounded younger, though not so young as the smallest.

Spock shook his head. _"No, it is a misunderstanding. He does not love me."_

 **Exasperationannoyancejust because this one does not yet know it does not make it false,** chided the juvenile voice.

**Come.**

**Come.**

**Come.**

**We will help.**

Spock went.

* * *

Chapter Eleven

Whispers murmured in the hazy darkness, smears of pale gold against inky, endless black. Feelings more than words, the barest suggestion of emotions brushing against him. There was something just beyond the darkness, the promise of something else...something more. He was being held back by soft voices, faint thoughts, the stuff of dreams and memories.

_Come back._

He couldn't go there. Not yet. Something...someone was calling him. He remembered grasping hands, liquid warmth against his face, a voice.  
Somewhere far, far away, he was sweating, cool hands pulling the fire out of him, but it burned and scorched and he was opening his mouth to scream and another hand was on his face and that hand he knew, leaned into it desperately.  
Flickering eyes, flashes of things that made no sense. Violet and gold and white, blurring spinning bright blue trickling through his lips, an arm beneath his head.  
He was fading again, falling back into blackness. A safer darkness this time, more confined, without the enticement of the beyond dangling around him.  
A distant voice, calling, murmuring.

Somewhere deep in the eternal darkness, he stirred.

_I do not need you._

He remembered. He knew...he knew what he had seen. He knew the truth.

_Don't leave me._

He was an idiot.

_Jim._

Jim woke to a pair of bright golden eyes. Startled, he could only stare at first. They were big and round and framed with snowy lashes, the irises the color of honey and amber. They had no pupils. The eyes blinked at him sedately, then pulled away. Backwards. They had been bending down over him, whoever it was.

He realized that his head was pillowed on someone's lap. "Spock?" he mumbled woozily. Small, cold hands touched the sides of his face. No, not Spock.

"I am here, Jim," said the quiet voice, somewhere to the left of him, and he struggled to lift his head. The little hands-they felt like a child's, but _strong_ -held him firmly in place.

It was then that he realized how good he felt. His chest was no longer tight, his head was clear for the first time in what felt like ages. He could breathe.

"What happened?" he demanded. He remembered pain, a burning wet pain from inside him, and...he suspected that he had said some extremely embarrassing things. And Spock...Jim had made him cry again.

"They say to hold still."

"What? Who?" He tried to turn his head again, and the hands tightened reprovingly.

"Hold still, Jim. The process is not yet finished." Spock sounded almost distant, as if listening to a far off voice. Frustrated, Jim lay back. "What process?" he grumbled.

The hands released him, and he sat up immediately. He felt _fantastic_. Even his rib felt fine now. He took a deep breath, marveling at the fact that he could, and then he noticed his surroundings.

He was sitting on a worn, faded rug in the center of what looked like a small dugout of some sort. The rough walls were made of dark earth, the domed ceiling held up with black wooden cross beams. Strange weavings decorated the walls, like crude tapestries. A soft white light came from what appeared to be round stones of varying sizes set around the room, the largest about the size of his head and the smallest no longer than his thumb.

And there was Spock. He was kneeling formally next to a curtain that presumably led outside, watching Jim with wide eyes. And sitting to the left and right of him were...

They looked almost childlike, small and slender with slightly disproportionate heads. He was unable to tell if they were male or female, so similar were their bodily structures. They were not exactly identical, but there was an air of unity between the two. Both were dressed in plain, roughly woven smocks, from which their bare limbs protruded.

Their skin was _white_. Not merely pale, but white as flour or snow. Those round golden eyes peered out from small, heart-shaped faces that would almost look human if they had proper mouths.

White skin stretched smoothly over the space where lips and teeth should be, the only sign of a mouth existing at all being a small horizontal slit close to the chin. It should be eerie, but only seemed to add to the unearthly beauty of the beings. Long hair, brighter than burnished gold, was braided back in single long plaits and coiled by their feet.

The two creatures blinked at Jim, heads tilted almost quizzically. There was a rustle behind him, and he turned to see another one of the beings climb to its feet. He had been lying on its lap, he realized.

This being seemed slightly older than the other two, though its face was as smooth and unwrinkled as its companions'. It wore a loose, baggy white tunic that bared its snowy limbs, and nothing on its feet.

"They want to know how you feel," Spock spoke again. Jim glanced at him sharply and noticed for the first time that Spock was holding hands with the two beings at his sides, his eyes glazed over as he stared right _through_ Jim.

"Spock. Hey." He waved a hand uncertainly, but his first officer didn't so much as blink. "You okay there?"

"They want you to answer."

"Okay. Okay. Um. I feel great," he said honestly, unsure which of the creatures he was addressing. "Really. Better than I did before. Do you think you can, um." He gestured vaguely at Spock. "Can you snap him out of this?"

The standing creature blinked at him solemnly, and then Spock was taking a deep, shuddering breath, pulling his hands away to grip his head groggily. "Jim?"

"Spock!" Jim wanted to melt with relief. He reached across the space without thinking, realizing too late how careless that move was. After a moment of hesitation, Spock leaned forward and gave his hand a careful squeeze. Jim squeezed back, taking comfort from the physical touch. He was _alive_. He had made it.

"I am…..glad to see you well," Spock told Jim quietly, his voice as serene as his composed face. But all Jim could hear was a shaking voice calling his name, warm tears dripping on his face.

"Me too," Jim answered, almost reluctantly releasing Spock's hand. He shuddered at the thought of how close he had come to dying twice. That was already more times than anyone should have to go through. "Cutting it a bit close though, weren't they?" He glanced at the silent, _weird_ creatures. "These are the healers we were looking for. Aren't they?"

Spock's head was tilting again, listening to something beyond Jim's comprehension. "They are ready to see us."

"Who?" Jim demanded.

Spock blinked, snapping out of whatever alien frequency he had been tuning into. "The elders. They were ones who..." His eyes drifted vaguely over Jim's body and Jim felt himself oddly getting warm, for some reason. For a wild moment, he thought his fever had returned. "...who pulled you back."

"Oh." He wondered if Spock knew that when he talked, the corners of his mouth twitched upwards constantly in a teaser of a smirk. It was distracting as hell.

There was a light touch on his shoulder. Jim jerked away instinctively and looked up and back to see the creature behind him proffering a hand. He stared at the four-fingered limb, noticing that there were no fingernails, and glanced at Spock uncertainly. When Spock dipped his head in a slight nod, Jim reached up and hesitantly put his hand in the creature's.

The cool fingers wrapped around his firmly, and for a moment Jim thought he heard a quiet, whispering rustle. His ears popped abruptly and he winced at the twinge.

"The natives appear to be highly advanced in psychic communication," Spock said, a bit late, in Jim's opinion. He scowled, trying to banish the ringing in his ears. "Could you, I don't know, tell them to tone it down a little?"

"They are aware," Spock assured him. "They were merely probing."

"Probing," Jim repeated, a bit distastefully.

"Checking on your condition," Spock amended. "They were charged with the task of watching you while you recovered."

The creature holding Jim's hand gave a short tug. He clambered to his feet, awkwardly hunched to avoid bashing his head on the ceiling. Now that he was somewhat upright, he saw that they really were very small, whatever these things were. The creature guiding him stood only about chest high, while the smaller ones by Spock barely reached his waist.

"So you've been chatting with the natives, huh?" Jim asked lightly.

"Not so much," Spock murmured distractedly. "Their manner of communication can be…..overwhelming. As proficient as I am, I require physical conduits." He indicated the two creatures at his side.

The creature holding Jim's hand gave another pull, and he realized he was being led to the curtain. "We're going out?" he guessed, and the creature tilted its head back to consider him in a way, he realized with amusement, that was reminiscent of Spock.

Another inquisitive rustle brushed against his consciousness, the feeling not unlike the feeling of being stared at from behind, and Jim tried to suppress a shudder at the prickle of goosebumps across the back of his neck. Then the creature blinked slowly, those fluffy lashes brushing against smooth porcelain cheeks, and gave him another gentle tug towards the curtain.

Jim followed, ducking his head through the fabric and blinking at the bright sunlight. He took a few more steps forward at the insistence of his guide, barely registering the sounds of Spock exiting behind him. He was too busy gawking at his surroundings.

The cave they had emerged from was just one of many honeycombing the high walls of the ravine he stood at the bottom of. The walls were close together, the widest point at the bottom and tapering in as they rose upwards. High, high above, Jim could see a jagged strip of pale blue sky. Everywhere were the little white creatures, almost like snowflakes against the dark cliff walls.

There were larger ones, like the one whose hand he still held, and smaller ones that were children, Jim guessed. They stopped and stared with those solemn golden eyes as his guide led him down a path laid with smooth white stones, winding through the narrow ravine. They passed more little honeycomb holes, the fabric serving as doors twitching back as pale faces peered out curiously.

It was only after a few feet that Jim realized it was utterly silent. He could hear a faint whistle of wind high above, the occasional twitter of birdsong, but beyond that, there was nothing but the crunching of their footsteps.

"It's creepy quiet," he muttered over his shoulder at Spock. One of his smaller...conduits had stayed at the cave, the remaining one clutching two of Spock's fingers and towing him along behind Jim.

"I find it quite the opposite," Spock replied, his voice slightly strained.

Jim glanced at him, surprised. "This another Vulcan thing? I thought you were a touch telepath."

"They are very loud," was Spock's only response. Jim cast a dubious look at the silent denizens clinging to the cliff walls and decided to take his word for it.

"So," Jim finally began, after another minute or two of walking. The path just stretched on and on, as far as he could tell, every turn of the twisting walls revealing only more of the same. Neither of their guides seemed keen on offering an explanation, and he was tiring of watching that long golden braid swish hypnotically with every step against the creature's ankles. "What happened...after..." he gestured vaguely, uncertain how much he wanted to delve into _that_ can of worms right now. The hazy memory of Spock pressing his lips to his hand suddenly rose unbidden in his mind and he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to hide the flush he could feel building up back there.

It was nothing, he was sure. For all he knew, it was a normal Vulcan thing. He should just stop thinking about it, how Spock had sounded, what he had said, what his tears had felt like on Jim's face...

"The healers arrived," Spock responded readily, though he sounded almost reserved about his words. "They stabilized you long enough to transport the two of us here to their village and administer the cure."

"Well, it works," Jim said lightly. "I feel great." Even better than he had before, he thought. His whole body felt downright buoyant; he felt like he could climb right out of the ravine with his bare hands at the moment.

"That is good," Spock said, and it was such a strange thing for him to say that Jim glanced back at him. Spock gazed back steadily, something unrestrained and open in his stare, and Jim felt a prickle of not-quite-discomfort tickle his spine. Unnerved, he turned back, and saw the cave they were approaching.

It was a round hole in the cliff wall, high enough for both Jim and Spock to pass through without stooping and just as wide, almost a perfect circle. It was a shape too smooth to be natural, and Jim eyed it suspiciously as they approached. "What's in there?" he asked, not expecting an answer. Predictably, he was ignored by his guide, whose only response was to tighten its grip and trot a little faster.

"The elders," Spock supplied quietly. "That is their dwelling place."

"Elders?"

"There are three of them." Spock paused. "Do you….remember?"

Jim thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No. Nothing about any elders."

"What is it that you do remember?" Spock sounded genuinely curious. _Scientific reasons, no doubt_ , Jim thought ruefully.

He could have told Spock the worst of it, that he remembered the coldness and falling and endless darkness, but there was something else he did remember. Something warmer and more promising than any of the horrors. "You," he answered, trying for a nonchalant tone and keeping his eyes fixed steadily forward. "I remember you, Spock."

To his great relief, Spock didn't pursue the topic. They passed through the entrance to the cave, the cooler air washing instantly over Jim's skin as they entered the shadows. The white path continued through the cave, growing dimmer and dimmer as they continued along the tunnel. When it bordered on complete darkness, Jim opened his mouth to say something about it, and his guide reached into a pouch hanging on its waist, pulling out a handful of what looked like white pebbles.

The creature tossed the small, round objects into the air, where they….stayed. Jim gaped at the nuggets swirling serenely before his face, each revolving lazily in its own gravity. A gentle white glow pulsed from the stones, fluctuating ever so slightly as they turned.

When they continued forward, the lights followed, bobbing almost like ducklings behind the creature.

"Fascinating," Spock murmured, and Jim stifled a grin. Still the same old Spock, it seemed.

The tunnel ended abruptly in a black curtain of shimmering cloth, completely obscuring what lay beyond. The creature tugged its hand gently from Jim's grasp and stepped to the side, clearly indicating that he should continue.

Jim glanced at Spock, who was receiving the same treatment from his little guide, and hesitated, suddenly wary of whatever was past the curtain. Sure, they had saved his life, but he had lived long enough to learn that nobody did anything without a reason. If they wanted something in exchange….he wasn't sure he could say no. His crew was depending on him.

"Jim?" Spock inquired, when he made no move towards the curtain.

Jim snapped out of it. "It's nothing," he muttered, turning decisively. "Let's go." Before he lost his nerve, he brushed aside the curtain with a hand and stepped through.

He heard a rustle behind him as Spock followed, and the curtain fell closed.

It was completely dark.

He listened to the sound of his own heavy breaths, trying not to panic. _You're being stupid_ , he told himself hurriedly, _It's just the dark. Absence of light. You're not dreaming, you're not dead, it's okay, you idiot-_

He flinched as something touched the back of his hand, then heard a quiet, "Captain," and knew it was Spock. He relaxed without thinking, seizing Spock's hand and clenching it tight. _Don't question it,_ he prayed, and Spock didn't. He merely turned his hand so that it held Jim's more comfortably and stood by his side, shoulders touching.

Jim closed his eyes, though it made no difference in this crippling blackness, and concentrated on the grounding points of contact. He felt a rush of gratitude towards Spock; there was no way in hell he could've done this alone, not in the dark…..

He stiffened, recognizing the feather-light touch nudging questioningly at the edge of his thoughts, enough alien presence seeping through his consciousness for him to be aware of its existence. "Spock," he forced out through gritted teeth.

Spock gave his hand a slight squeeze. "It is all right."

Another nudge, this one more insistent, and Jim fought back instinctively, floundering in his own mind. It was like trying to swim without limbs, or flying without wings. Panic clawed at his chest and he gulped for air, unable to take a deep breath. "Spock-"

"Let them in, Jim," Spock whispered, his hand a steady pressure on Jim's. "Breathe."

Jim inhaled obediently, willing his heart to slow. Trying to relax. The pushing on the edge of his mind had ceased, though he dimly sensed the presence lingering just beyond the point of awareness. "I can't," he confessed, feeling absurdly comforted by Spock's nearness.

"You are fully capable of this," Spock gently corrected. His voice sounded strangely lulled, almost sleepy, and Jim realized that he was already in tune with the...elders, whatever they were. "Let them in."

"How?" Jim demanded shakily. "I can't-"

"Let go." Jim could hear Spock's even breaths, feel his pulse beating against his fingers. Whose heartbeat was whose? He couldn't tell anymore. "Let go, Jim."

The presence returned, settling heavily over him. He fought back strangling claustrophobia and listened to Spock's voice.

"Breathe."

He sucked in another lungful of air...and let go.

It was surprisingly easy, almost like falling asleep, and yet it was the hardest thing he had ever done.

Then the presence was in him, filling him, stretching his limits thin and pushing even further until he couldn't remember his own name. It was an avalanche, a hurricane, a typhoon, a fire. Colors blurred into an incomprehensible tangle of texture, taste, sound, he saw mountains fall and oceans rise and fifty suns blacken in death. Whole lifetimes flashed behind his eyes, a newborn, a withered crone, a fluttering of wings, drifting laughter, whole centuries like heartbeats. he tasted blood and honey and sorrow and rain. He heard a voice, three voices, murmuring and shifting, less tangible than the phantom winds scourging his mind and yet clearer than any memory.

He was going to die, he was sure. There was too much inside him, surely his body would blister and turn to ash. He held the blaze of a million suns, ten thousand stars, felt lightning course through his limbs, he wasn't breathing, he realized in some distant corner of his ravaged mind.

Then the presence retreated, like a fading tide, and took with it the maelstrom of time and ages. Only a faded imprint remained, barely enough for him to sense if he concentrated.

"...breathe," Spock was urging, on full commander mode, and Jim automatically took a shuddering breath, almost coughing on the sudden intake.

"Are you all right?" Spock asked urgently, his hand clenching around Jim's in a suddenly vise-like grip.

"What the hell," Jim gasped in response, "was that?" His mind felt small and empty, pathetically meager compared to...that...

**Captain...**

The voice was a sigh, the ghost of a whisper. Jim jerked, a startled cry dying in his throat. "What the-"

**Do not be afraid.**

The words were clearer that time, snapping into focus like tuning a dial. It was a young child's voice, not female or male but with a distinct youthfulness, and sounded almost reproachful.

Jim swallowed hard. "Where are you?" he asked out loud, his voice seeming obnoxiously loud to his own ears.

**Here.**

**Here.**

**Here.**

Three voices that time, one deep and rumbling, one a resonant tenor, the child's.

"Jim," Spock whispered, and Jim opened his eyes.

A single light floated before him, one of the white stones that defied gravity. As it watched, it bobbed forward, the black space that it was unable to illuminate giving him an idea of just how large the chamber was.

Then he saw the three figures, sitting in a circle about ten feet away from him and Spock. The light stopped above them, dancing almost merrily like some sort of maniacal firefly.

All three of them were heavily shrouded in violet fabric, the drapes pooling around them on the ground and covering all but a sliver of moon-pale faces, unsettling golden eyes fixed steadily on him.

He awkwardly let go of Spock's hand, reluctant to do so for no good reason. "Hello," he said finally, after a minute or two of uncomfortable silence.

A chime of amusement, like a tinkling bell, brushed across the back of his mind.

The largest of the three, the one facing them in the circle, lifted a hand, white fingers protruding from under its drapes, and beckoned. Jim traded a glance with Spock, then stepped forward, sitting between the smallest and the largest elders at their silent insistence. Spock seemed to hesitate for a moment before stepping away from Jim to seat himself across the circle, filling the gaps and completing the circuit.

Jim shifted on the ground, unable to avoid brushing his knees against the elders on either side of him. After a moment of fidgeting, he accepted his fate and sat still.

Spock spoke suddenly, his voice gone flat and distant, "You have questions."

Jim glanced at him sharply, stomach lurching at blank eyes. "Get out of him," he demanded, glaring at the elder seated to his left. Those golden eyes didn't so much as twitch in his direction, fixed straight ahead.

"Your mind is incompatible with our own," Spock said, except it wasn't really Spock anymore, Jim realized with a sinking feeling, his flipping stomach now plummeting to his toes. "To persist in such communication will cause irreparable damage."

"That doesn't mean you can just-just hitch a ride in his head!" Jim burst. "He's not your personal transmitter, damn it-"

"The Vulcan has granted us permission," the elders said dismissively, through Spock's mouth. " _He_ understands the risks." The emphasis was clear, and Jim shut his mouth reluctantly.

"You have questions," the elders said again, and Jim found that he did.

"The disease," he said instantly, heart clenching at the realization that somewhere above them, the Enterprise was waiting for him. For the cure. "You called it the hunger."

"It is well known to our people. It travels from planet to planet, devouring her peoples, devouring the planet. It is the hunger that never ceases, is never quenched."

Jim remembered the withered planet Lassiter had been saved from, remembered the trail of gray ash Bones had tracked down the corridor. "But you have a cure."

Spock dipped his head in a clumsy nod, a puppet on a psychic string. "We have a cure. And it is yours, if you will listen."

"I'm listening," Jim said slowly, waiting for the axe to fall. Surely there was some condition, some sort of bargain they were angling for.

"We know."

Jim waited politely for the rest of it, but when Spock that wasn't Spock only stared at him placidly, he coughed and inquired, "Know what?"

"You are James Tiberius Kirk, this is true. But there are many Kirks and you are only the Kirk of the now. We have seen this."

"I'm sorry, I don't-"

"You will be a great man one day, Captain," the elders told him, and hearing it come from Spock's mouth made Jim feel all sorts of confusing things. "There are things you will do, decisions you will make, people you will save. You could not be allowed to die."

"So you do see the future," Jim said skeptically. He wasn't closeminded, he'd seen some pretty incredible things in his life before, but these three little seers were probably the strangest creatures he'd ever encountered.

"We see all." Spock blinked at him slowly, serenely, tilting his head in a manner that was like Spock and yet not at all. "You have much potential as you are, Captain, in this strand of time. You and Mr. Spock."

"Spock?"

"Your friendship has been constant in every timeline, Captain, every circumstance, no matter how extreme. However, in this present….there is potential," the elders said again cryptically.

Jim tried not to roll his eyes, not wanting to find out how _that_ would play out in front of the creatures. "Potential for what, exactly? Small words here for the human."

"For something more," the elders said simply. "Think about it," they added, almost as an afterthought, and then Spock-Jim's Spock-was back, blinking rapidly and looking slightly nauseous.

Jim leaned forward across the circle, reaching out automatically to touch Spock's wrist. "You okay?"

"I will live," Spock murmured wryly. He cast an odd look at the elders, who appeared to be ignoring them magnificently, eyes fixed on whatever timeline they were spying on now. "We must leave now, Jim." He stood and Jim joined him after a moment.

"The cure-"

"They will have it for us once we are ready to depart," Spock assured him distractedly, taking him by the elbow and walking him swiftly back through the curtain and down the long tunnel. The hovering light had followed them unbidden, the light throwing weird shadows on the curved walls as they walked. Jim was almost painfully aware of Spock's fingers still pressing against his arm, and wondered if Spock had always been so open with his touches.

He was so distracted by this strange revelation that it took him a moment to digest Spock's words and realize the immediate problem. "How are we supposed to leave, Spock? We've lost our communicators, the trackers, how the hell is the Enterprise supposed to-"

"The elders have arranged for the Enterprise to navigate to our location. Approximate time of arrival in two point three seven minutes."

Well, that'd explain the rush Spock seemed to be in.

" _Arranged-_ " Jim caught himself abruptly, remembering how the elders had flagged down their ship in the first place, and scowled dubiously. "What _can't_ they do?"

"There is not much that they appear to be incapable of," Spock agreed solemnly. They were reaching the end of the tunnel, and Jim could see the slight silhouettes of their guides outlined in the circle of daylight.

They stopped when they reached the mouth of the tunnel, Jim squinting into the dazzlingly bright sunlight. His guide reached out and touched the back of his hand with a single finger, liquid gold eyes tilting up to regard him solemnly. The faintest brush of contact tickled behind his eyes, an almost exploratory glance. Jim grinned, feeling a sudden wave of affection for the little creature, and reached out, patting the top of its head twice.

The creature looked positively astonished, its little slit of a mouth falling open slightly, and touched both hands to where Jim had patted it in a dumbfounded gesture. Jim's grin only widened at the sight, and beside him Spock let out a huff that could have almost passed for amusement.

Spock's guide reached out next to give Jim's sleeve a tug, and when he looked down he saw the vial of cobalt fluid clutched in small white fingers. He took it wordlessly, trading a glance with Spock, and tucked it carefully in a pocket.

A shadow cast over them just as a sudden rush of wind snatched at their hair and clothes, dust rising from the ground in writhing clouds. Jim leaned back, squinting at the dark mass hovering just above the cliffs high above, and laughed delightedly. "She's here," he whooped, ecstatic at the thought of returning to his ship. To his crew.

Spock caught his gaze, something heavy and unspoken in the, that made Jim falter momentarily. He opened his mouth without thinking, whether to ask what was wrong or...well, he didn't know himself, but then his body was tingling and threads of light were spinning before his eyes, and then they were gone.

* * *

Chapter Twelve

The first thing Jim saw as he blinked the last rays of light from his eyes was a sea of colored shirts crammed into the transporter room. As far as he could tell, most of the crew had shown up, spilling out through the doors and well into the corridor.

They were all staring at him silently, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. He could pick out Uhura among them, hands clasped to her mouth, and Sulu and Chekov, a wildly grinning Scotty behind the control panel. He was surprised that Bones wasn't already shoving himself up on the platform, foaming at the mouth with six vaccines in each hand. Presumably, he was trapped somewhere in the crush of bodies, and Jim allowed himself a moment of amusement by imagining the doctor fuming in the masses.

"Well, I'm back," he said finally, an uncertain grin flitting at his lips, and the crowd erupted. Grasping hands pulled him off the platform, everyone seeming to want to touch his arm or slap his back or shake his hand. Jim cast an amused glance over his shoulder at Spock, who was receiving much of the same attention, albeit more tentatively from the younger crew members.

"You made it," Uhura exclaimed, her damp eyes glittering as she drew Jim into a tight hug.

"Yeah," he muttered into her shoulder, feeling altogether too weepy himself at the moment.

Sniffling a little, she backed up, smiling. "It's good to see you, captain."

"Yeah, you too-"

" _Jim_!" Bones shouldered forward between two engineers, looking frantic and breathless. "You _idiot_." He pulled Jim into a gruff embrace with enough force to crack his ribs and lift him slightly off his feet.

"Bones," Jim wheezed, dangling awkwardly in Bones' grip. "Can't breathe."

His friend finally let him go, and, to Jim's and Spock's infinite surprise, moved past Jim and caught the Vulcan in an equally fervent hug. "Damn pointy-eared bastard," Bones muttered in relief. "You brought him back."

"I did promise," Spock replied, backing away from the doctor warily as soon as he was released.

"Good to see you back, Captain," Sulu greeted, offering a reserved handshake. Jim returned it with an air of amusement at the pilot's formality, and reached past him to ruffle Chekov's hair affectionately. "How you doing, Chekov?"

"Wery good, sir, now that you're back," Jim had time to hear Chekov say, before Bones was hauling him towards to the door by the collar, snapping and jostling his way through the crowd.

"Bones-"

"I'm giving you an exam, Jim, if it's the last thing I do. God knows what they did to you down there-"

"Wait-"

They were halfway down the hall now, Jim all but tripping over his feet from being dragged at the awkward angle. To his dismay, he realized that Spock had been detained by the crowd and wasn't following. Wondering why that was suddenly upsetting to him only made it worse.

"I said _wait_ , Bones!" He finally succeeded in twisting away from Bones and plunged a hand into his pocket before his friend could whirl on him, producing the vial and holding it like a shield between him and the fanatic doctor.

Bones stared at the swirling blue liquid, eyebrows furrowing together in consternation. "Is that…?"

"The cure," Jim confirmed, and thrust it at Bones. "Take it."

Bones cradled the vial carefully in his hands, looking down at it, then back at Jim. "Does it….is it the real deal?"

Jim shrugged and spread his arms out, gesturing at his body. "Well, looking at me, I'd say it works."

Bones considered Jim gravely, putting two and two together with unsettling swiftness. "How close was it?"

"Knocking on the pearly gates, from what I hear," Jim tried to laugh, but the sound that came out was dull and forced, and he settled for a grimace. "Wasn't fun, trust me."

Bones nodded absently, turning the vial over and over in his fingers like he still wasn't quite sure it was real. "And Spock?"

Jim felt all his senses go instantly on red alert, a little warning siren practically screaming in his ear. "What about Spock?" he asked carefully.

Bones was giving him that disturbingly shrewd expression he always had when he thought Jim was trying to pull one over him. "You tell me."

Jim stared at Bones, gaping like an addled goldfish. "I don't know what you're talking about," he settled on finally. "You been hitting the drinks again, Bones?"

Bones clucked his tongue in a knowing way that pushed all of Jim's wrong buttons. He scowled irritably. "I'll see you around, Bones."

"Oh, no, you don't. Don't think you can wiggle out of this one, kid." Bones reached menacingly for Jim's collar again and he backed up swiftly, raising his hands in surrender.

"I'm _fine_. Look, the little elves gave me the once-over on the surface. I'm better than new." He patted his chest and grinned winningly.

" _Elves?_ What the hell-"

"Long story. I'll tell you some other time." He was edging carefully down the hall now. "So you go on and….doctor everyone up."

Bones looked as if he wanted to argue more, but Jim gave him a quick two-finger salute and hurried away down the corridor.

…

The next couple of days were a whirl of medical activity, most of which Bones had explicitly banned Jim from participating in. Spock was penned in his lab, producing more of the serum. Of the twenty crew members now infected, two had died while they had been on the surface, but the remaining eighteen had been swiftly injected and now faced a full recovery. None had bounced back as quickly as Jim, but he rather suspected his own recovery had been given a boost by the golden-eyed creatures.

In any case, the suspension of impending doom had given Jim plenty of time to think. However, instead of thinking about the things he knew he should be thinking about, like regulations and reports and other procedural nightmares, he found himself thinking about Spock.

He thought about how this had all started, so many days ago when he had cornered Spock in that lift and demanded an answer. He had really been quite stupid then, he realized with no small sense of embarrassment. Stupid and ignorant. Even now, when he knew so much more about the situation, he still felt that way.

He thought about all the fights they'd had, all the misunderstandings, all the frustration and tension and anger between them. He thought about all the times they'd saved each other's lives, despite all that. Something had to be strange about that, he was sure, but there was nothing that felt unnatural about it at all.

He thought about that night that he had kissed Spock out of loneliness, fear, and sheer recklessness, and how Spock had kissed him back. He thought about how he'd never really cleared that up with Spock, or asked why Spock hadn't simply pinched him into oblivion.

He thought about what the elders had said, about how they had the potential for something…..more.

He wondered what that meant, exactly. _More_ more, like...like more kissing? And maybe even- his mind blanked, finally pushed beyond the limits of his imagination. The thought of kissing Spock again wasn't exactly….bad, though. It wasn't unpleasant at all, really, and that confused the hell out of Jim. He _should_ be freaked out, or least uncomfortable, but no. No, he really didn't think it'd be weird at all, especially now that he knew what Spock thought about him.

That in itself was another thorny patch he had to painstakingly pick through. Spock wanted him, no matter what he said, and Jim knew that as certainly as he knew his own name and rank. How he could be so sure of this, he had no idea, but he _knew_ it, damn it, and no Vulcan with crippling self-denial issues was going to tell him otherwise.

In the end, it didn't matter what he thought, he realized. It was about Spock holding his hand when he needed it, Spock jumping off a cliff to save his ass, Spock lying to him about he felt for whatever ridiculous noble reason he had concocted. If this was what they had now, he decided that he wanted more of it.

But first, there was something he had to clear up. Something he'd suspected for a while now, but only now saw the clearer picture.

It seemed that the elders weren't the only ones capable of spotting Jim's blind spots.

...

"Come in," Len called, without looking up from his report. What satisfactory afterglow there had been after the success of the serum had been rapidly tarnished by the ever-looming threat of paperwork. Honestly, you'd think there was a more efficient way of handling this crap in this day and age. His office door slid open with a gentle whoosh, and someone awkwardly cleared their throat.

Len glanced up, taking in an oddly sheepish Jim hovering in front of him, and settled back in his seat with a sigh. "What is it now?"

Jim fiddled with a stray stylus lying on Len's desk, turning it absently in his fingers as he spoke. "I need to ask you something, Bones."

"Yeah?" Len asked warily.

Jim seemed to struggle for a moment, before he cut shifty eyes to Len and asked, "Did you know?"

Len eyed Jim suspiciously. He was fairly certain he knew what Jim was talking about, but it wouldn't hurt to be completely sure. "Know about what?"

Jim waved his hands in a vague gesture. "About….Spock. How he….about me….." He was turning an alarming shade of red, looking anywhere but at Len.

Oh Lord. Something must have happened on the surface if he was like this now. In a way, Len was almost relieved that Jim knew. God knows he'd had enough of this nonsense between the two of them. He squinted, trying to gauge Jim's mood. He wasn't...upset, he didn't think, but whether or not that meant that he and Spock were...hell, Len didn't know anymore.

Upfront honesty it was, then.

"Since the beginning, kid. I'm pretty sure I knew even before either of you two boneheads figured it out."

Jim's flush darkened exponentially. Len grinned wickedly. "You did figure it out, right?"

"It's a long story." Jim suddenly didn't seem too keen to be in Len's presence anymore. "I can't believe you...and I even...dammit!"

"You are a bit of an idiot," Len agreed amiably.

"You couldn't have, I don't know, _hinted_ at anything?"

Len pursed his lips reluctantly. "He asked me not to," he admitted.

Jim stared. " _Spock?_ Is that why he was always….all those times...God, I was so blind," he bemoaned.

Len enjoyed the sight for a moment before relenting and showing mercy. "Spock's never been the obvious type," he said kindly. "I'm surprised he slipped up at all."

Jim suddenly became very interested in his feet. "Well." There was a story there, Len realized, and someday he would get to the bottom of it. But for now, he could use a celebratory drink. _God_ , this past month had been hard.

"Look, Bones, I need to go," Jim was saying now, already shuffling backwards towards the door.

Len eyed him cynically. "To see Spock?"

"No." The answer came too quickly and offhandedly to be totally innocent. Len contented himself with a smirk as Jim swiftly excused himself. Overall, a job well done, he thought. Maybe he was cut out for this kind of thing after all.

...

Spock was working, presumably on the serum Bones was now having him develop for mass usage. Jim hovered uncertainly outside the lab doors, just beyond the range of the sensors, peering through the small glass windows and wondering woefully how he had let this madness take him so far.

He watched Spock move, watched how his hands turned and flexed, how his head tilted when he was concentrating and how the pale skin between his brows wrinkled and smoothed when he talked. He had probably noticed all these things long ago without realizing, but now he really looked, and saw, and wondered how he had never truly appreciated them before.

He wondered how he had ever lived before knowing Spock. Before wanting him, needing him, and wanting to know if he needed Jim, too.

Jim stepped forward into the door sensors, and lingered self-consciously in the doorway after the doors opened. Spock glanced up absently, then straightened when he realized who it was. "Captain."

Jim jerked his head awkwardly to the corridor, offering an uncertain half smile. "Walk with me?"

Spock set down everything immediately, pulling off his protective gloves neatly inside-out and dropping them in a disposal bin. "Is something wrong, Captain?"

"No, no," Jim hastily amended. "Just wanted to talk to you. It's...it's been a while, that's all." Spock eyed him carefully, then took off his lab coat and hung it neatly on the wall. "Very well."

Jim shuffled aside, waving Spock on through the doors. This had been so much easier before he started...started noticing Spock like this. No, that wasn't exactly fair. He had noticed Spock for a long time now. He just hadn't known it. It figured that it would take a near-death experience to tip the scale.

They strolled down the corridor, Spock lingering just far enough behind Jim to be considered as following, and Jim having no idea where he was trying to go. He cleared his throat at the time as Spock began to speak, and the both of them faltered in awkward synchronization.

"You first," Jim said hurriedly, stomach flipping uncomfortably.

"Captain, I-"

"No, I insist." He held his breath, listening to the tapping of their shoes against the floor.

Spock paused before continuing resignedly. "Very well. It has come to my attention that….that we have not properly discussed the events that transpired during our excursion."

"Oh." Oh indeed. Jim suddenly felt vastly unprepared to breach this topic. He had planned to...well, he hadn't actually thought this out all the way, but he had _intended_ for this to be a sort of testing the waters kind of thing. A tentative poke and prod at whatever massive block of sensitivity lay between them. Apparently, Spock had different plans.

"I am uncertain as to the extent in which you remember the events that took place moments before you…." Spock paused, evidently trying to find a delicate way to phrase "died and got your ass dragged back by three pasty fairy gnomes."

Jim took pity eventually and suggested, "Passed out?"

"Precisely."

"Well, I told you. I remember you." _And your voice, and your skin, and your eyes._

"I have come to the conclusion that that is an unacceptable summary of your recollections."

Jim snorted, still able to feel amused despite the wild party his guts seemed to be having in his abdomen. "Is that so?"

"Yes," Spock replied simply.

Jim sighed, suddenly losing whatever reluctance he still held. If Spock wanted to know so bad, Jim would just _tell_ him. "You want to know what I remember, Spock? I remember us sharing a blanket in that cave, I remember you holding me when I couldn't walk, I remember that you cried and held my hand and kissed me and I remember thinking, at the end, that dying wouldn't be bad at all if I could die in your arms." His heart clenched in embarrassment at how freaking _weird_ he sounded, but there was nothing weird about the way he felt about Spock. If anything, it was only strange that it had taken him this long to see it. "That's what I meant, when I said I remember you. So really, that's all that's important, right?"

Spock didn't say anything, and Jim took advantage of the lull to continue. "And now it's my turn. I wanted to know…...what I saw in your mind back when I was sick... Is it still true?" He stared firmly in front of him as he spoke, not wanting to see Spock's reaction.

After a slight pause, Spock made his careful reply. "Jim, I believe I have made the point clear in our previous discussion."

"Don't pull that crap with me again," Jim said bluntly. "Tell the truth."

"You know the truth."

"But do _you?_ " They had both stopped walking by some form of silent agreement, and now Jim wheeled around to face Spock. He searched the set expression, glared into frowning eyes. "I like you, Spock. I like you a lot. You're…." he swallowed, only now realizing how crazy this all was. He was the captain, Spock was his first officer. There were all sorts of rights and wrongs here, but he honestly didn't give a rat's ass about any of it. All he knew was the precise angle of Spock's left eyebrow, the ghost of a smile that hovered by his lips, the weight of his sorrow beneath all his logic, the times he had watched Jim die and cried for him. He knew the temperature of Spock's tears, the taste of despair in his kiss, the coolness of his hands around Jim's. Spock made him feel human, and somehow, that was the most important thing.

"You're my friend," he said at last. "My best friend, Spock. And, if you want…" he hesitated, teetering on the edge of a cliff. _To hell with it._ He was well practiced at falling from cliffs by now, anyway. "If you want, we can be more. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Spock was staring at him strangely, his head tilted in that quizzical manner that drove Jim crazy. "I do not."

Jim resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "What you….feel, Spock. How you w-want me." He stumbled a little over the awkward wording. God, who _said_ stuff like that anymore? He felt a raging blush coming on and fought it valiantly, though he suspected it was a battle he was doomed to lose. "I feel the same way, is what I'm trying to say. The ship needs you, Spock, as first officer, but….well, I need you too...as something more." He held his breath and waited for a response, heart thumping nervously, and felt a twinge of annoyance when Spock only stared. "What?"

"You are confused," Spock told him firmly, and turned to leave. Jim's mouth fell open. He was so shocked that Spock managed to get a few yards away before his brain kicked in and he hurried after him.

"Spock, get your ass back here. I'm not done with you!"

Spock sped up, not quite breaking into a run, but bordering on a slight jog. "You do not know what you are saying," he answered, his voice low and fast. "Your emotions have been compromised by recent events, therefore it is highly probable that you are suffering from delusions which are impairing your judgment."

"All right, that is not okay. You can't just make up some crap like that-"

"I propose that you put the matter out of your mind and focus on more demanding matters."

"Damn it, listen to me!" Jim grabbed Spock's shoulder and flung him around. Spock stumbled back against the door of a supply closet, caught off guard, and Jim advanced on him before he could slip away.

"Jim," Spock warned.

"Shut up," Jim growled, a slow anger burning in his belly. "You listen to me, Spock, and you listen close, because-"

The sound of approaching footsteps tapped distantly around the corner. They both froze, darting eyes meeting each other's in a tense moment, before Jim made a fast decision and reached out, opening the closet door behind Spock and pushing the both of them in. He closed the door and leaned back against it just as the footsteps rounded the corner.

The closet was narrow and cramped, forcing them to stand almost toe to toe, breathing in the same air. Several heartbeats passed in silence while the footsteps faded. Spock made to push past Jim to freedom. Jim seized his arm instantly, jerking him back in front of him. " _Don't you run again_ ," he whispered harshly, inches from Spock's pointed ear. "Don't you dare run from me, Spock." A final heartbeat. He slid his hand hesitantly down Spock's arm, wrapped his fingers loosely around a cool wrist. "Please."

Spock whirled on him, so fast that Jim nearly tripped backwards. A hand caught the small of his back before he could fall, the arm he still held twisting forcefully from his grip. He swung out blindly, not knowing if he meant to punch Spock in the face or grab him and kiss the daylights out of him. In any case, he missed completely, knocking something off a shelf instead. There was a sense of frantic urgency in their fumbling movements, the pounding danger of being caught by the nearest yeoman in search of a screwdriver filling the air with an almost tangible thrill as they wrestled for dominance.

Heavy breaths filled the shadows, laced with occasional grunts of pain and irritation on Jim's part whenever he struck a shelf with his elbows. Spock finally managed to pin him, with incredible efficiency and aim in the near darkness, against a rack of medical supplies, holding him still with burning points of contact along his chest and shoulders and hips.

Teeth grazed lightly against his neck, his collarbone, scraping along his jawline with tantalizing slowness. He felt a hint of stubble rasp over his skin as Spock rubbed his cheek against him-who would've thought? Jim twisted his head, straining to capture that teasing mouth, but Spock annoyingly refused to comply, nuzzling against the side of his face instead and running the tip of his tongue with an almost scientific curiosity along the curve of Jim's rounded ear.

Jim felt himself falter at the unexpected sensation, his knees giving out involuntarily and pressing his hips even closer to Spock's. They grazed together for a single, blazing moment, electricity crackling down his thighs and curling tightly in his abdomen. If he wasn't hard yet, he was swiftly getting there.

"Spock," he gasped, hands fumbling blindly for his first officer's face. His fingers brushed against tense, blue -clad shoulders, the vibrations of strange half growls prickling under his palms. His wrists were seized impatiently when noticed and imprisoned with embarrassing ease beside his head, that still exploring mouth sucking hard and possessively on the exact spot where he had left his mark from that first drunken night that had been so long ago.

 _Nice touch_ , Jim thought hazily, then promptly forgot what he had been thinking when Spock bit down hard without warning on his neck. "Ow! Spock, what the hell- !" He hissed in mixed pain and pleasure when Spock's tongue flicked and circled the bite mark, cool bursts of air puffing across his sensitive flesh. "Kiss me, damn i _-"_

Then he kissed Jim. A light, almost chaste kiss that ended too quickly for Jim to respond. He resisted the urge to drag Spock back as he pulled away slightly and looked at Jim.

A thin thread of light flickered under the door, enough for Jim to make out the silhouette of Spock's head. He squirmed slightly under his penetrating gaze, every nerve in his body yearning for that burning touch, those slender hands that possessed such unimaginable strength. There was something deep and secret within him that longed to be held under such power, to be handled with barely restrained force and overwhelming strength. _There's the adrenaline junkie coming out, the little bastard_.

"What?" he finally asked, when it seemed that Spock was never going to move, his breath hitching slightly over the word.

Spock didn't answer, but a hand moved to cup his jaw, thin, steely fingers pressing against Jim's cheek. A thumb brushed lightly across his lips, hovering briefly on the soft flesh before sliding away. Jim held very still, feeling an odd...presence just barely out of comprehension. It felt like someone was standing very close behind him, almost touching but not quite, their warmth prickling strangely at the back of his neck.

The presence hovered for a brief instant before fading away again, but not before Jim had sensed a wave of unfamiliar, unexpected desire that was so unlike anything he had ever felt himself. It was fascination and intense longing and fierce possessiveness on a level he had thought impossible, in so alien a combination that it transcended any emotion Jim had ever known.

He seized Spock's wrist before he could step away, keeping the Vulcan still with all the strength he could muster in his melted state. "Wait," he breathed, struggling to regain some form of control. "Please."

Spock started, then faltered and took a single, slow breath to center himself. He was swiftly unraveling, his once rigid control now disintegrating with every sound Jim uttered, every staggering breath, every brush of hot skin beneath him. He wanted to be closer to Jim, touching, pressing, mingling. Everything wild and uncontrolled and raging within him that he had locked away long ago now reared to the surface of his roiling mind, demanding to be unleashed from the cage he had so carefully built around himself. "I do not think...you understand...these implications, Jim."

"I understand just fine," Jim snapped. "Do you honestly think I'd be having this conversation with any of my other officers? Out of _duty?_ Let me tell you, if this was Sulu or Bones or-"

"No." The word was almost a growl, and Jim failed to suppress a shudder at the sound.

"Well, of course not. That's what I'm saying." It was his turn to take a deep breath. "It's got to be you, Spock. Believe me."

"That is impossib-"

"Really, Spock? From you?" Jim asked dryly.

"You can not-"

"I can."

" _Jim._ "

Jim squeezed Spock's wrist as hard as he could and pulled it up, pressing Spock's hand against his own chest. "Do you feel that?"

Spock was silent. Jim could almost hear his own heartbeat, thumping wildly beneath Spock's palm. "That's how you make me feel, Spock. Every second I look at you, talk to you, _think_ about you. Without you, I can't...I can't _be_ , Spock. Do you get it? Because this is probably the most embarrassing thing I've ever said to anyone." This silence was making him nervous. He desperately wished that they were not doing this in the supply closet. "Say something."

Then, he felt something drop onto his hand, something warm and wet and all too real.

Jim craned his neck incredulously, trying to peer at Spock's downturned face. "Are you... _crying_?"

"No," Spock said shortly, refusing to look up.

"Shit, Spock," Jim murmured, completely at a loss. "I didn't...seriously, don't cry." He reached up awkwardly and tilting Spock's chin up, letting his fingers linger on his skin. Spock's eyes glinted in the darkness. He looked alien and yet so completely human, and he was so damn beautiful. "I make you cry too much," Jim mumbled regretfully, catching a teardrop with his thumb and rubbing it between his fingers absently..

"Jim, I..." Spock's voice sounded utterly wrecked, trembling and broken. "I want..."

"Just tell me you love me already, you idiot." Jim pulled Spock forward fiercely, let his face press into the crook between his neck and shoulder. Spock smelled clean and almost minty, his skin cool beneath Jim's. He felt rather than heard Spock mumbling into his hair, but he didn't need to hear the words to know their meaning.

Jim felt an ecstatic grin splitting his face and pulled back to finally get a proper kiss-

Spock's communicator beeped.

They stood frozen, faces barely inches apart. The communicator kept on beeping.

Eventually, Spock answered it, not taking his eyes off Jim as he spoke. "This is Commander Spock."

_"Sir, the test results on the serum are complete. You instructed me to call...?"_

"Yes, thank you. I will be right down." He closed the communicator and sighed. "Jim, I must leave. The labs-"

"Screw the labs. Stay." Jim slid his grip down Spock's wrist, holding his hand instead. He heard a sharp intake of air from the Vulcan as their palms slid together, followed by fingers hesitantly twining around Jim's.

"I...can not." There was genuine regret in his voice. "My attendance is required by-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Jim hoped he didn't sound as sulky as he felt. He forced a grin, though he doubted Spock could see it in the dark, and clapped Spock's shoulder cheerfully with his free hand. "Go on, then. I'll leave after. You know, in case anyone is around."

Spock was quiet for a moment, then squeezed Jim's hand with a sudden fierceness and whispered, "I will meet with you later." It was not a request, nor a question. Jim felt a prickle of...nervousness? Anticipation? Was it his or Spock's? Stupid mind reading telepaths.

"Later," he managed to answer, and Spock was gone. He waited five minutes before following.

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

The next two days passed in a sort of blurry haze for Jim. He didn't think he'd ever felt like this before, all floaty and glazed over and stunned as effectively as if someone had fired a phaser at his chest. If a rampaging rhino had charged down the corridor as he stepped dazedly from the supply closet, he wouldn't have batted an eye.

He hadn't seen Spock since he literally tripped out of the closet. Somehow the Vulcan was always in the labs, or in his quarters. Jim had busted onto he bridge excitedly the day before during shift, only to see a replacement sitting at the science station.

 _He's busy,_ he told himself firmly. _Calm down, Jimmy, I can feel the estrogen levels rising here._

He still couldn't stop himself from being worried.

Uhura eventually found him idling in the turbolift between shifts on the third day, holding a stack of PADDs and staring blankly at the wall.

"Look all you want, it's not going to disappear," she said dryly, stepping in beside him and pressing the controls for the bridge.

"Uh." Jim jolted, blinking around befuddledly. He wasn't sure how long he had been standing there, barely aware of the swooshing motion of the turbolift moving up and down.

She snorted in a way that somehow managed to still seem feminine. "All right, what's wrong now?"

He crossed his arms defensively, the datapads clicking as he jostled them together. "What makes you think there's something wrong?"

Uhura turned her sleek head to scrutinize him, arching an eyebrow delicately as she flicked a glance up and down his body. "You honestly want me to believe you're fine?"

The turbolift doors opened, and Jim gestured awkwardly. "Your stop, I think."

"Huh. Not likely." She reached out and closed the doors again, turning to give Jim a "you'll have to do better than _that_ " stare. "Something happened," she accused. "What did you do?"

He eyed her warily and said nothing, unsure of how much to say. He knew that Uhura and Spock weren't together anymore, but he liked her too much to risk ruining their friendship by suddenly making a move on her man. And with that, he snorted at himself and relaxed. What was he, the other woman all of a sudden?

"I'm an idiot," he declared out loud.

Her eyebrow rose again, and Jim suddenly wondered if she had learned that particular maneuver from Spock. He had a fleeting image of himself trying to pull off the same move and blinked it away rapidly before he could make a bigger moron out of himself. "Normally, I would agree, Captain, but now I'm just wondering what the hell happened between you and Spock?"

Well, that was the last time he'd underestimate her. Jim shifted the PADDS for a moment before glancing sidelong at her and answering carefully, "I may or may not have...with Spock...well, there was a closet, see-"

"Oh my God-"

"-it was a small closet, though, so it's not like we actually-"

"-Jim-"

"Are you mad? I mean, I know what you _said_ , but God knows I know what it's like to say one thing and feel something el-"

"Jim, shut _up_." She reached up and firmly took his face between her hands, pushing his cheeks together and forcing him to fall silent. Jim blinked at her confusedly, feeling stupid with his lips squished out like some kind of disabled fish.

"I'm not mad," Uhura said calmly. Jim squinted suspiciously. She didn't _look_ mad….

"Really, I'm not," she added with a small smile, noticing his expression. "I'm just glad I didn't have to _lock_ the two of you in that closet."

Jim blinked again. There was a joke here to be made about closets and him and Spock toppling out of them, but he didn't think Uhura would appreciate the halfhearted effort at levity. "Grshnd?" he mumbled, his face still smushed.

She let him go and he repeated, "Glad?"

" _Delighted_. Len and I were having doubts, to be honest."

Len. Len? It took a second for it to click, and then he was gaping like a denizen of the marine depths once more. " _Bones_? You're in with this with _Bones_?"

"You know, I've never understood why you call him that-"

"I can't believe-"

"It was for your own good, Jim. Yours and Spock's." The turbolift doors opened to reveal a surprised yeoman, stiffening at the sight of the lieutenant and captain. Uhura reached out and, witha terrifying calmness, shut the doors once more in the man's face. "You had to do this on your own. And it was worth it in the end, right?"

Hands sliding down his back, the graze of teeth on the skin above his collarbone, the pressure of Spock's palm against his heart. Jim swallowed hard. "Yeah."

Uhura gave him a fierce smile, one that showed a little teeth around the edges. "So what's with the moping, then? From what I hear, shouldn't the two of you be taking a day off? Together?" The way she said it left little to the imagination, not that Jim's mind didn't leap there, anyway.

"I'm waiting," Jim admitted, feeling a flush burn up the back of his neck. "He said….he said he'd find me later. And it's only been about a couple of days, but, I don't know…..I haven't seen him around since. What if..." He blinked hard, feeling so utterly ridiculous, but Uhura was looking at him encouragingly and he found that he couldn't stop himself from saying, "What if he changed his mind?"

He thought he heard Uhura mumble something that sounded remarkably like, "That _idiot_."

"What was that?"

"Nothing." She studied him carefully for a long moment, then nodded decisively, as if satisfied with what she found. "You take care of him, all right?" _Or else_ , her expression suggested.

"I intend to," Jim told her dryly.

"Good." And with that, she was opening the doors once more, ponytail swishing as she turned to cast one final word of cryptic advice over her shoulder, "Try the ears."

 _That woman_. Jim suspected, as the doors gently hissed shut behind her retreating heels, that in another life, he would have gladly pursued Nyota Uhura to the ends of the universe.

He closed his eyes, allowing himself to slide back into the now well-familiar memory of those fleeting moments in the dark closet. He needed to find Spock. He couldn't wait any longer, wondering when the next time they would see each other. Just thinking about it now, seeing Spock again, touching him, making him look at Jim in that way that couldn't be called a smile, but was softer than any expression he showed anyone else…

…..damn, he had it bad.

…

Spock stared resolutely at the wall. He was attempting to meditate, but was now swiftly despairing of the effort. As soon as he closed his eyes, Jim was there, every ounce of his brilliance and warmth in all of his intensity.

He assured himself that he was not hiding, that he was refraining from seeking out Jim as he had promised out of sheer professionalism. He was an adult, a respected commanding officer. He could hardly barrel down the corridors as he wished in order to pull Jim into his arms again and reassure himself that all this was very real. That Jim felt the same way.

He still doubted his own memories of the incident, despite the irrationality of it. His memory was perfect and Jim had indeed said that he reciprocated Spock's affections, but it _had_ to be incorrect. Never before had he dared to hope, dare to even allow himself to ponder the possibility of Jim not rejecting him, much less claiming to be of the same mind.

This was all, he decided wildly, an inane delusion. He must have somehow contracted the disease and it was eating away at his mind even now.

There was a buzz at his door.

His heart lurched unexpectedly and he raised a hand to his side in confusion, willing his pulse to slow. Could it be Jim? He was not ready, had not fully prepared his mind for their encounter.

The door buzzed again.

"Spock, it's me."

A puzzling mixture of relief and disappointment swirled briefly in his gut. "Doctor. Come in." He disengaged the lock with a wave of his hand.

McCoy entered, looking as distinctly uncomfortable and out of his league as Spock expected, and had come to expect, from the man. He admitted to a grudging liking and respect for the irascible human, not all of it stemming from Jim's own personal friendship with the man. He obviously cared for Jim as much, if in an utterly different manner, as Spock, and had, after all, shown surprising support for Spock under recent circumstances. Taking all of this into consideration, Spock was not therefore as offended as he might have been a year ago when the doctor scowled and said, "You blithering git."

"I beg your pardon," Spock said politely. "Doctor, did you just-"

"I damn well did." McCoy crossed his arms, casting a brief glance of curiosity at the furnishings of Spock's quarters before fixing his irate gaze on its occupant once more. "Nyota warned me you were emotionally stunted, but I had no idea you were _this_ cripplingly insecure."

"I...I do not understand your meaning."

"Look, the way I understand it, you two have….sorted yourselves out, and about damn time, too." McCoy made a wild, ambiguous gesture, ending with an accusing jab in Spock's direction. "So why the hell are you holed up in here like a squirrel in December?"

Spock, distracted by the process of recalling what exactly a "squirrel" was, took half a second to realize what McCoy was actually saying. "If you are implying that I am avoiding Jim, doctor…" he trailed off unexpectedly, at a rare loss for words, and settled for a quizzical frown.

McCoy snorted. "That's what I thought." He uncrossed his arms awkwardly, then folded them back across his chest. "So what's wrong?"

"There is nothing….wrong," Spock said vaguely. "I simply require further meditation on the matter." He paused, cocking his head thoughtfully at the doctor. "I did not realize you were on first-name terms with the Lieutenant, Doctor."

McCoy's complexion deepened to a shade of red that did not look nearly as flattering on him as it did on Jim….Spock blinked firmly to dispel the image.

"None of your business," McCoy grunted finally. "Nyo- Uhura's a…a comrade of sorts, I suppose you could put it. Things change, is all I'm saying." He cleared his throat pointedly, renewing his glare at Spock. "And _further_ _meditation_ , my ass. That's just your way of saying you're being a damn coward about it. Well, let me tell you, Spock, I've had it with you and- and your twisted sense of righteousness! If you hurt Jim, I swear, you'll be praying for Melvaran mud fleas-"

"I would never harm Jim, Doctor," Spock said sharply. "Surely you understand that."

"Not _intentionally,_ you wouldn't, but what you're doing right now." McCoy waved a hand around at Spock's quarters. "This...this _hiding_ from him. Humans tend to get a little upset when their significant other won't even look them in the eye, you know."

Spock was, for lack of a better term, bewildered. "I requested a length of time before our next meeting, Doctor. I believe that is not an inappropriate Terran gesture."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. 'Later,' right?" McCoy made aggressive quotation marks with his fingers. "Lesson one in etiquette, Spock. Later usually means _right now_."

Spock was nothing if not well-read, and he considered himself to be substantially educated in the matters of human relations, but now he felt oddly out of his depth. He did not enjoy the feeling, though he suspected that this was not the last time he would find himself in this situation. Being associated with Jim in any way, it seemed, welcomed such circumstances.

He resisted the very human urge to close his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration, and contented himself with allowing his face to crease into a perplexed frown. "I….do not understand."

"Of course you don't," McCoy griped. He gnawed at his lip, squinting at Spock furtively for a considering moment, then pounded his fist into his open palm decisively. "All right. This is what you're going to do."

Spock felt a chilling sense of doom. He opened his mouth to politely, but firmly refuse the generous offer-

" _Listen_ to me, you jackass. And do exactly what I say, or you're going to ruin everything and we'll have to start over from the very beginning. Now, first, you're going to…"

…

It was the fourth day, and now Jim was getting antsy. He went on a walk through the entire ship, looping it twice, and concluded at the end that either Spock must be walking along the same circuit so that they were never on the same deck at the same time, or he was being fervently avoided.

This pissed him off.

What the hell did Spock even _want_ from him?

He was startled from his peeved soliloquy by a beep at his belt. Irritated, he flipped it open without bothering to check the caller. "Look, here, whoever-"

" _Captain."_

Jim nearly dropped the communicator. Fumbling it, he cursed and caught it before it could flip out of his hand. "Spock!"

" _Yes. Where are you?"_

Taken aback by this unusually direct approach, Jim took a moment to look around and identify his location. "Um….observation deck. Why?"

" _I require your presence in the conference room at once_. _"_

"What? Why? What's wrong?"

" _Please."_

It was the "please" that had him almost running for the turbolift. Spock _never_ said "please." A million scenarios were racing through his mind, ranging from "Oh God, the disease is back and Bones lost the cure" to "My apologies, Captain, but I have discovered that I burn for Keenser instead of you." Stifling a hysterical laugh, he hurtled around the corner, jostling countless crew members who should have known better to be in his way, really, and skidded to a halt in front of the closed conference room doors.

The doors opened before he could attempt to unlock it, and a hand shot out, grabbing the front of Jim's shirt and hauling him bodily into the room.

He found himself pressed almost nose to nose with Spock, dark eyes staring straight into his.

"Spock? What the-" he struggled to focus his gaze, going cross-eyed in the attempt. He pulled away, hearing the doors close behind him. "What's happening?"

Spock stepped back, his hands flexing uncertainly at his sides. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again with an air of dogged persistence. "I believe I owe you a discussion."

"Wait, is this 'later'?" Jim asked nervously, hating that he was even nervous. Wasn't this what he had wanted, had been waiting for all this time? But now that the moment was actually here, every worst possible situation was suddenly coursing through his thoughts. _If it's Keenser, I swear-_

"I apologize exceedingly for the wait," Spock said instantly, as if worried that Jim was upset with him.

It was adorable, really. Almost enough to put Jim's worries at rest.

Jim nodded, not trusting his voice at the moment, and turned his back briefly to engage the lock on the doors. He turned back to find Spock somehow standing almost pressed up against him, their chests brushing as Jim automatically tried to step back and bumped against the doors.

"Whoa there," he chuckled breathlessly. Spock was silent, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on Jim's face. He had the look of a starving man seeing a steak for the first time in six months. Jim licked his lips subconsciously and wondered if that had been the right analogy.

Spock moved even closer, and suddenly his scent was enveloping Jim, sharp and minty. He inhaled deeply without thinking, gripping Spock's arms for balance. "Spock…" he breathed, leaning forward…..and hesitated, barely a centimeter of air between them.

Spock tilted his head first, and Jim felt his lips part in anticipation, a tingling of jolting awareness racing up his arms and down his spine. They hovered like that for a moment, close enough to taste the heartbeat of a breath between them. He impulsively leaned forward, touched his lips once, twice, lightly against Spock's. Spock swayed forward unconsciously when Jim pulled back, his mouth hesitantly opening into Jim's.

His hands slid up over Spock's shoulder to grasp his face and pull him closer. "It's okay," he whispered, sure that Spock could hear his heart pounding deafeningly in his chest.

They stood there for what felt like less than a second and more than a lifetime, exploring each other's mouths, slowly pushing closer and closer until they no longer separated between each tentative kiss. _This is what our first kiss should have been,_ Jim thought dazedly. _Just like this._

They were both such total idiots.

He twined his fingers in Spock's hair, pulling him roughly forward until their chests met and hooking his arms around his neck to keep him from moving away. He felt Spock's hands move to his back, pressing against the dip of his spine. The kiss became rougher, sloppier, the beginnings of arousal curling through Jim's body. Spock pulled back first, but remained close, his forehead resting heavily against Jim's. "Jim, I..." he said softly, barely a whisper. "I must…..make a confession."

"Mmhm." Jim was barely listening. He swayed forward, pressing his lips to Spock's brow, his eyelids, his nose. His hands tugged at Spock almost with a mind of their own, some dim notion in his mind of pulling him _into_ Jim.

"I lied when I claimed that I did not….I did not need you." That perfectly steady voice wavered minutely. Jim kissed the corner of Spock's mouth, pausing with his lips against trembling flesh. "Shh."

"I am sorry." Dark eyes blinked solemnly at him, clearly concerned over his reaction. Jim realized fuzzily that Spock's eyes were much closer to brown than black. It made him seem warmer, somehow, softer. More human. "You were right. Everything you said, and so much more."

Jim smiled crookedly, a lift of the corner of his mouth. "Bad Vulcan," he murmured, touching his fingers to Spock's lips. "You're on timeout."

Another confused blink. Spock tried to speak, and Jim's grin widened when he felt his mouth stirring beneath his fingertips. "You really need to stop talking," he said firmly, and replaced his fingers with his lips once more.

Spock hesitated one final time, then folded, responding with a new intensity. His arms tightened around Jim's waist, actually lifting him a couple of inches off the floor. Jim chuckled in delight against Spock's mouth, taking advantage of the new angle to tilt his head and deepen the kiss. Spock made a small noise beneath him, and when Jim opened his eyes, he realized that Spock's were still wide open, gazing at him with such hunger and yearning that his breath hitched in his chest.

"Jim," Spock sighed, lowering him until he was standing. "Jim." Jim groaned when Spock moved his lips to his neck, tasting the vivid mark he had left earlier. The bruise tingled with mingled pain and pleasure, tugging a rippling sigh from Jim's throat as Spock's tongue traced his pulse point methodically.

Spock's hands slid casually up the back of his shirt, palms pressed flat against Jim's spine as he nosed farther down Jim's throat, murmuring his name continuously under his breath like some sort of mantra against his skin.

"You're so... _hot_ ," Jim gasped, unable to say much else under the circumstances. A huff of breath gusted across his neck and Jim gaped. "Did you just _laugh_ at me?"

"Negative, Captain."

The deep gravelly tone Spock's voice suddenly shifted into caused Jim's hips to rock forward involuntarily, grinding very non-subtly against Spock's thigh.

Spock all but jumped straight into the air, actually turning green around the edges. Blushing. He was _blushing_. Jim only took a moment to digest this when the implications struck him. He grinned wickedly. "You going to take responsibility for this?" he teased, looking pointedly down at his crotch.

Spock's eyes flickered down, wavered a bit, and straggled determinedly back to Jim's face. "I am...inexperienced with that...course of action," he informed Jim, the pale green spots darkening significantly. "The doctor did not specify further-"

"What, Bones?" Jim was baffled. The hell did Bones have anything to do with this?

Spock became very quiet. "I...he offered advice that I saw fit to...to accept. However, he did not..." Spock sounded way too flustered for his own good. It sounded awkward from that face with those ears and that hair, but Jim wouldn't have it any other way.

He really needed to get Bones a fruit basket or something.

"Guess you'll have to improvise, then." Jim leered at him for a moment longer before the rest of his words from before hit home. He blinked, mind derailing momentarily from its one-way mission south. "Wait, _inexperienced_? Are you saying-"

"There has never been a need for me to-" Spock began saying very loudly over him.

Jim raised his voice in return, not to be outdone. "So you've never-"

"-my Time has not come, and therefore I have-"

"But _Uhura_ -"

"-the lieutenant and I had not progressed to that-"

"-so you're a _virgin_?"

Spock's mouth snapped shut and he looked at Jim strangely. "Is that an issue?"

Jim scrubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well, _no_ , not really. It's kind of hot. I mean, hell, Spock, it's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"I am not embarrassed," Spock said, his voice too loud again.

"I'm just saying, I'm sure lots of Vulcan chicks have wanted to...you know. You're very attractive and all that. Excellent gene pool to be exploited. Your kids would probably be all...dark and pointy and hot and stuff." Jim wasn't sure what he was saying anymore, but the words wouldn't stop coming out. Spock tilted his head at him, eyes unreadable, then unexpectedly reached out and placed his palm between Jim's legs.

Jim's voice rose several levels in pitch as he grabbed at Spock's wrist. "Shit, wait, Spock, _wait_." He cursed Little Jimmy silently as Spock began to massage his growing arousal through his pants, ignoring Jim's insistent tugs on his arm. "Hold on a minute, damn it! What do you think you're doing?"

Spock paused in his movements, but didn't remove his hand. Jim shuddered at the light pressure of the heel of his palm, waves of sensation pulsing from the point of contact. "I am taking responsibility," Spock explained patiently.

"You said you were inexperienced?!" _And that sure as hell didn't feel "inexperienced" to me!_

An eyebrow ascended to the heavens. "Inexperience does not imply unfamiliarity, Jim." Now he sounded like he was giving a lecture, damn him. "I assure you, I took the class." And his hand began moving once more. Jim found himself clutching Spock's arms for support, wheezing breathlessly.

"Wait, what...class?" he panted. "Should've...signed up for it-ahhhh wait, wait-" Spock's lips descended on his neck again and he reluctantly pushed him away. "We can't."

Spock blinked at him. His hair was tousled, his lips parted, and Jim wanted nothing more than to pull him back. Well, except the desire to give Spock a proper first time.

"You are not losing your virginity in the conference room," Jim told him firmly. _However fun that may be..._ "We're going to do this right. Dinner and the whole shebang."

If Spock wasn't Spock, Jim suspected he may have rolled his eyes in severe exasperation over the follies of _Homo sapiens._ As it was, he merely looked constipated. "Jim."

"Humor me on this one. It's not every day I see a virginal Vulcan." He smiled, pleased at his alliteration. Heh, he'd like to hear Chekov say-

"I fail to see why this is so important to you," Spock said stiffly, looking more than slightly displeased at Jim's reaction.

"Trust me. You won't regret it." He knew _he_ wouldn't.

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

Jim wanted this to go right. After all, it wasn't everyday that he got to thoroughly dismantle a Vulcan. _His_ Vulcan. Thinking that still felt odd to him, but still so very right.

He was inevitably nervous, of course. His own first time had been so long ago and rather suspiciously blurred by more than time, but he didn't want it to be like that for Spock. Not that the Vulcan was some blushing maiden waiting to be ravished on her wedding night. Oh no, he'd made it very clear to Jim just how familiar he was with the theoretical concept. If anything, he probably knew more about the logistics than Jim did, and hell if that wasn't a disturbing thought. But if that was how, well, _good_ he was before gaining the actual experience...Jim was suddenly looking very much forward to the next five years. And beyond.

The thought daunted him. He had never pursued a long term relationship before, nor particularly desired one, but this, what he had with Spock, was definitely unlike any relationship he had ever had. They completed each other, made each other better in so many ways.

Jim could no longer imagine a future without Spock by his side. They would have arguments, no doubt. The two of them were too bullheaded to not. But they had always come back together in the end, despite all odds. Heck, Spock had shot him off the ship once and he'd still somehow made it back.

Feeling morbidly cheered by the memory, he continued working. He had the table down so far, he thought. Given, he had only cleared it off and thrown a hastily procured tablecloth from the mess hall over it, but he thought that it still was a nice table. Very….tabley.

He resisted the urge to groan and abort the whole operation. God, what was he doing? He had never been good at this kind of thing, being more of the love 'em and leave 'em type. But Spock was different, in so many ways. There was no leaving here, Jim knew for sure. This was it, _Spock_ was it, and somehow the thought was more comforting than it was distressing for a man with his history of relationships.

Jim plunked down a bottle of champagne on the table, gave it a critical eye, and suddenly wondered if Spock could even drink alcohol. He wondered if there was time to give Uhura a call before-

There was a buzz at his door. "Captain," crackled Spock's voice over the intercom. Jim whirled around, horrified. No, it wasn't time yet, he was _sure_. He checked his timepiece hastily.

"You're early," he yelled at the doors. "Come back later!" _After I find out if you can even drink, damn it!_

There was the sound of what sounded suspiciously like a sigh, then Spock spoke again. "Captain, this is quite ridiculous."

"I'm always ridiculous."

"Capt- Jim, I do respect your newfound….appreciation for human courtship rituals. However, I must insist that this is all completely unnecessary."

"Newfound?" Jim repeated, a tad indignant. "I've always been appreciative, thank you very much."

Silence from the other end. Jim wondered if Spock had left.

Then the lock disengaged, the doors sliding open to reveal a borderline smug Vulcan.

Jim stared stupidly for a second. "You-you can't _do_ that."

Spock strode towards him, apparently uncaring of what he could and could not do, and Jim automatically backed up until he bumped into the table. "Food's not here yet," he blurted, for the sake of saying something. "Really, Spock, this is incredibly rude of you. Here I am, actually putting effort into something for once in my life, you'd think you'd show a little more suppor-"

Spock's mouth silenced him. _He's gotten better_ , Jim realized with surprise, after the inital brain melt. The thought of Spock actually researching this should not have been as hot as it was. He wound his hand around the back of Spock's neck, twisting up to pull the short strands of hair through his fingers. His leg jostled the table as his shifted, reminding him of its presence. Table. Something about the table. What had he been doing again?

Then Spock's hand was at his waist, scraping his nails against his ribs through his shirt, and Jim forgot about the...the...table…..what?

His other hand moved up to hold Spock's face still, tilting his own head to deepen the kiss. He traced the closed seam of Spock's mouth with his tongue experimentally, felt his lips part hesitantly beneath his exploratory brushes. Spock's tongue was cooler than Jim had expected, its rough surface gliding delectably across Jim's upper lip. Jim soon found himself panting into Spock's mouth, his heart pounding, his head dizzy and bursting full with Spock.

It wasn't long before he was snaking his free hand between their bodies to palm at himself, shuddering when Spock brushed his hand aside and grasped him through his pants, giving a long, slow tug that had Jim's toes curling in his boots.

" _Shit_ , Spock," he hissed breathlessly, involuntarily thrusting into Spock's hand to chase the friction he craved. Spock made a small noise, a distracted hum of acknowledgment, and ground the heel of his palm forward obligingly...

….then he pulled away. Jim automatically swayed forward after him, then caught himself before he could drape unbecomingly all over the Vulcan. "What," he demanded peevishly.

Spock was regarding him quietly. "I apologize, Captain. Your preparations are not yet completed."

"Huh?" Jim could barely think, the blood in his head migrating southwards at an embarrassing speed at the sight of Spock licking his lower lip contemplatively. Had he always done that?

"Your preparations," Spock repeated. "You have forbidden me to pursue more intimate activities until you were ready."

"Screw that," Jim dismissed immediately, reaching down and grabbing Spock by the hips. He rocked forward, pressing the two of them together for a hard, blazing moment, and was rewarded by a sharp exhale from Spock. "I hope you paid attention in that class," Jim whispered.

"Top scores," Spock grunted, and Jim had barely the time to congratulate himself on demoting Spock to the use of sentence fragments before Spock was thrusting back, pushing him backwards. Jim hissed with mingled discomfort and delight as the edge of the table dug into the back of his thighs, causing him to lose his balance and lean farther backwards in order to stay standing. It was going to bruise, later, he was sure, but right now he couldn't bring himself to care. Jim caught Spock's mouth, pushing enthusiastically past his parted lips and sweeping his tongue roughly over the roof of his mouth. He took his time tracing each soft ridge, catching the little huffs of air Spock was making, only pulling back to breathe when he felt about to burst.

"I can still stop," he murmured, only half-jokingly, catching Spock's eye. The Vulcan looked almost dazed, his eyes blurred and dark. "You sure you want to go through with this?"

Spock made an impatient sound and fumbled at Jim's collar, gripping the gold fabric in his hands and _ripping_ it apart when he couldn't get it off fast enough.

"Shit," Jim breathed hoarsely, as pieces of his shirt peeled away from his chest. "Wait, wait, just hold on." He tugged at his undershirt, trying to pull it off before Spock could shred that one as well. Steely fingers plucked at his, trying to move his hands out of the way. "Spock, hold _on-_ "

"I have held on for long enough," Spock said, his voice on the verge of a growl. Jim couldn't stop a shiver at the sound of Spock unraveling, his hands frozen on his shirt. "I have waited for you, Jim, perhaps for my whole life, and I will wait for you for the remainder of my existence, but _I will not wait now._ "

And he promptly tore Jim's shirt in half.

"Spock-come on, really-very immature," Jim gasped, unable to string more than two words together as Spock flung the pieces of fabric away carelessly and pressed his mouth below Jim's collarbone. "Mmm, yeah..." he hummed and leaned back, planting his palms on the table, as Spock kissed his way down his chest, what started out as light and hesitant touches becoming harder, almost bruising as he moved lower and lower, eventually ending up on his knees.

Spock's own shirt went flying over his head at some point, his head bending immediately afterwards to continue sucking at Jim's abdomen. Jim shuddered as he nipped the sensitive skin between his teeth, biting just hard enough to redden the flesh before smoothing it over with his tongue. The alternation of sensations, pain and pleasure and something in between, sparked explosions behind Jim's eyes.

He was almost painfully hard now, panting with the effort of restraining himself from simply thrusting up into Spock's face. He made a half whine of need, fingers tightening in Spock's hair. When Spock ignored his little problem and continued mapping out Jim's stomach with his tongue, Jim decided that Spock must be misreading his signals and took a more direct approach.

He dropped his hands to Spock's shoulders, taking a moment to marvel at how cool his skin was, and shoved hard, catching Spock off guard long enough to flip their positions.

"Jim?" Spock huffed, as Jim dragged him to his feet and pressed him back against the edge of the table by the front of his shirt.

"Relax," he breathed, licking a thin stripe along Spock's neck. "Let me take care of you." His skin tasted...different, Jim noted, not salty or sweet but a strange in-between, and the alien taste was utterly addicting. "God, I want to eat you," he mumbled.

Spock made a strangled noise in his throat as Jim dropped to his knees, grinning up while deftly undoing his pants. The material dropped to Spock's knees, nudged along helpfully by Jim. "You okay up there?" he smirked, tilting his head up to consider Spock.

Spock's closing eyes snapped open, and he gave Jim an exasperated stare. The intent was slightly diminished by the fact that his straight fringe was mussed and sticking up, the normally perfect hairstyle rumpled by Jim's fingers into messy spikes.

Jim leaned forward, hands grasping Spock's hips to keep him still and, not taking his eyes off of Spock's, pressed his lips against the growing bulge in his black boxer briefs in a playful kiss. Spock's eyes narrowed as he inhaled sharply, his hands twitching slightly at his sides as if he wanted to grip Jim's head and pull him closer.

Jim opened his mouth, breathing in Spock's slightly spicy scent, and wondered if the rest of him smelled like this up close. He reached out carefully with his tongue, pressed it against the underside of Spock's erection and pulling the head teasingly into his mouth.

Another choked noise from Spock, the table creaking under his hands. Jim, delighted at the reaction, sucked lightly, his tongue flicking over the bulge until the fabric was soaking wet. Spock was panting in little huffs of air, trying to stay in control even as Jim tried to wrestle it away.

 _This is one battle you can't win, Spock,_ Jim thought, sliding his hands over and hooking his thumbs into the waistband of the briefs. He pulled the garment down slowly, reveling in that he was the first person to see Spock in this state. _And I'll be the last one too, damn it._

"What are you doing?" Spock finally asked, sounding like he was both dreading and anticipating the answer.

"Giving you a blow job," Jim said nonchalantly, though he was almost freaking out as much as Spock. He'd never done _this_ part before, though he wasn't about to admit it now.

"What is that?" Spock asked instantly, a slight note of panic in his voice.

Jim snorted a little, but didn't answer. He leaned forward instead, and, before he could completely lose his nerve, took Spock down in one go.

Above him, he heard a muffled choking sound and felt hands immediately on the top of his head, the light pressure neither pushing him away nor holding him still. In the end, Jim went with what he personally liked best, making up for lack of experience in enthusiasm. Spock tasted different, spicy and sweet and driving Jim insane with that _smell_ , and he decided right then and there that he would need to practice his technique on Spock again. And frequently, if he had any say about it.

At a particularly creative flick of his tongue, Spock surprised him with a low, breathy groan, more air than noise, but it shot straight to Jim's groin, making him dizzy with the sudden evacuation of blood from his brain. He shifted awkwardly on his knees, snaking a hand down between his legs to grasp at the taut bulge in his pants. All he could think of now was how to get Spock to make that noise again in the very near future, but _damn_ it, he was getting so close himself. It was embarrassing, really, he should have much more control than this. But Spock was undoing him in so many ways he hadn't even thought possible. Every muffled gasp, flinch, tightening of his fingers was a lurching step towards oblivion.

Spock's breaths were becoming faster, shallower, hips quivering with the effort of keeping still. His hands dropped down to grasp Jim's shoulders, fingers digging into his bare skin. "Jim," he muttered, by way of warning.

Jim hummed in response, Spock's body jolting above his, and gave himself a hard tug simultaneously, riding high on Spock's pleasure. Suddenly Spock was hauling him up to his feet, hands sliding up to cradle his face. Jim blinked dazedly, tongue flicking out without thinking to catch the drops of sticky moisture still clinging to the corner of his mouth.

Spock was saying something, and Jim tried to pull his mind together enough to pay attention.

"...bed."

Now _that_ he understood. Jim stepped back, grinning, and walked backwards across the room, sitting down hard when he felt the mattress at the back of his knees. Spock followed to stand before him, between his legs, looking down at Jim with an odd expression. Jim grinned up loopily, humming contentedly as Spock slowly reached out and placed a hand on his chest, flattening his palm against his sternum. The skin there seemed to tickle, tingling and prickling not unpleasantly beneath Spock's hand.

Jim shivered, his grin widening. "What do you want to do?" he whispered. Spock dragged his hand slowly down Jim's chest, his fingertips dimpling the warm flesh. He paused above Jim's navel, then seemed to make up his mind and pulled away, reaching down instead and hitching Jim's leg up by the knee. Jim bit back a startled yelp as the sudden movement tipped him backwards onto his elbows, his body bouncing slightly against the mattress.

"Hey," he chuckled, as Spock hauled his leg higher and began pulling methodically at a boot, throwing it over his shoulder carelessly when it was off. Jim lay back, enjoying the attention as the other boot went flying, this one somehow managing to hit the door on the far side of the room, and his pants were snapped off with a hard tug at the ankles. The cool air prickled the sensitive skin on the inside of his thighs and behind his knees, and Jim shuddered with pleasure when Spock raised his foot again, wrapping his fingers slowly around his heel and running them up to the top of his sock.

"That's so unbelievably sexy," Jim informed him, a bit breathlessly, as Spock peeled back his sock, seeming completely fixated at the sight of Jim's skin appearing inch by inch beneath the black fabric. Spock took a second to give him an exasperated stare before moving on to the other foot, stripping it with as much care as he had the first.

Jim pushed himself back up to a sitting position, clamping his legs around Spock's waist and reeling him in. "Got you," he whispered teasingly, reaching up and wrapping his hands loosely around Spock's neck, thumbs pressing lightly beneath his jaw. "Come here."

Some of the rougher passion that had subsided in the temporary lull now returned in full force as Spock settled his full weight onto Jim's chest, hands and mouth roving hungrily over the expanse of flesh Jim had laid out. He pressed cool, burning kisses beneath his collarbone, trailed wetly down the line of his sternum, traced straggling lines across his shoulders before circling back down. His thumbs traced under Jim's pectorals, digging into the flesh just hard enough for the pain and pleasure to mingle seamlessly, teeth scraping across a nipple in a way that had Jim drawing in a startled intake of air, heart pounding inches beneath that damned mouth. Spock was a _biter_. Who knew?

He heard faint thumps, barely audible over the beating of his own heart in his ears, as Spock toed off his own boots. He gave a breathy chuckle as Spock ran his hands lightly down his sides to grasp his hips, keeping him still with ridiculous ease while he traced nonsense patterns against the side of Jim's neck with his tongue.

Feeling like this was becoming a bit too one-sided, Jim dragged Spock back up into a hard, biting kiss, hands wandering down to pull Spock's hips against his. One thin barrier of fabric remained between them now, the strange friction only making it better as he ground upwards. Spock made a hitching sound in the back of his throat, clumsily trying to thrust back against Jim. It was clear that he wasn't used to the motions, and Jim bit back a laugh as he pushed at Spock's shoulder and rolled them both over, ending with him sitting on Spock's waist.

He grinned down at Spock's bemused expression and squeezed his legs tighter around the Vulcan's ribs, wiggling backwards until his ass ground down on the prominent bulge behind him. Spock shuddered, his hands running slowly up and down Jim's legs almost in distraction.

"Let me take care of you," Jim said again, albeit with considerably more strain in his voice this time, giving an experimental roll down and forward against Spock. A muscle in Spock's jaw jumped, but he held admirably still as Jim began to set up a slow rhythm, hands braced on the Vulcan's stomach for balance.

It'd been so long since he last got off, Jim could feel his climax coming dangerously fast, even though Spock had yet to touch him. He ground down again in frustration with a breathless hiss, wanting more without knowing what it was he needed. Spock made a small noise, a sort of grunt that was not quite a sound, and Jim grinned ferally, bending down to capture his mouth and those tiny, delectable sounds.

 _Try the ears_ , Uhura's no-nonsense voice prodded abruptly in his mind, out of the blue, and he was moving forward before he realized it himself, taking the tip of Spock's left ear between his teeth and biting down.

Spock hissed in shock, his hands pressing bruising imprints against Jim's hips. "Jim-"

"Well, well," Jim chuckled, delighted. "You- gah!" He squawked unattractively as Spock flipped them over with a sudden twist of his abdomen, practically throwing Jim onto his back again. There was a knee between his legs, nudging them farther apart, and he spread them eagerly, arching up to chase that friction he needed-

Spock was reaching for his face one-handedly, a look of intent determination in his glazed eyes, and Jim leaned up instinctively, aching for the contact and the new intimacy the touch would bring. But then Spock hesitated, a centimeter from his cheek, and Jim keened wordlessly in frustration.

" _Spock_ , come on."

"I…I could not ask this of you."

Jim cursed. "If you don't keep going right now, I _swear_ -"

"Jim-"

"Do it," he commanded, grabbing Spock's wrist and making a valiant effort at pulling him closer. "Please, I need to- I want you-"

Spock crushed his mouth to his with a painful clash of teeth and tongues, pressing his fingertips hard against Jim's face at the same time. It was a wall shattering, a dam breaking, a parting of clouds after a lifetime of darkness. It was a wave, a river, an avalanche, a beam of sunlight all at once, and everywhere it was Spock. He couldn't remember his name, who he was, where he was, all he knew was the whispers of Vulcan memories and dreams. He saw himself in dizzying flashes, felt the staggering _want need love_ wrapped tightly around every thought, every word.

He hadn't realized that Spock had thought him so beautiful.

He felt the ache of longing, of wanting, of watching from a distance. It mirrored his own struggles, yet was so different, so much more _clear_ than Jim's muddled human thoughts. He felt so small, so malformed, under this black and white skies of Spock's mind. Again, the feeling of being scrutinized as Spock's awareness surrounded his, pressing against- _into_ his consciousness. It was strange, it was alien, and he welcomed its warm embrace eagerly.

Jim tried to reciprocate the gesture, clumsily channeling all his want and affection and longing in the only way he could. Memories of the first time he saw Spock, how he had been so very impressed even in his displeasure, the first time they touched, every thought Jim had ever had while smiling at him, talking with him, kissing him, how he felt when Spock came for him in the radiation chamber, holding him, feeling him, his mind to his, together, he was dying again, it hurt, but Spock was there and it was going to be okay because Spock said so and he still had to tell him something- _loveyouloveyoulove_ -

"Jim," Spock gasped, his hand slipping from Jim's face abruptly. The flow was severed instantly, leaving a ringing in Jim's ears and the echo of whispers ghosting through his mind. "Too much."

Jim blinked, still reeling from the suddenness of the disconnection. "Whaa...?"

Spock was quivering above him, chest heaving as he gulped down rapid breaths. "You are too...raw," he tried to explain. "Too unformed. You do not yet know how to control your-"

Jim rolled his eyes and grabbed Spock's backside, pulled him down roughly as he lifted his own hips off the mattress. They slid together for a glorious, burning second, causing a startled exclamation that slipped briefly into guttural Vulcan.

Spock's hand delved between them, his inexperienced grip causing Jim to wince slightly. "Too hard," he wheezed, and the pressure lessened immediately as Spock gave an experimental stroke. Jim groaned impatiently, raising a leg and hitching it over Spock's waist to pull him closer. "Good," he panted, the heat in his stomach flaring, pulsing, tightening in his thighs and his chest. "Spock-"

He was getting so close, trembling at the very edge of a fall so deep he couldn't see the bottom.

"Spock, I can't," he panted frantically, babbling almost incoherently. "I can't, I'm going to-"

Spock's only response was to tighten his grip, his teeth digging into the vibrant bite mark already on the side of Jim's neck. One hard nip, a stuttering tug, they jostled together one final, rough time, and Jim was gone, his vision shattering into white-edged shards, the feeling of every muscle in his body tightening and then melting away into the bed, into Spock, into the air itself.

He choked out a strangled noise against Spock's shoulder, tasting sweat and Spock's skin in a dizzying swirl on his tongue. He was unable to do more than cling to the Vulcan's arms as Spock gave a few more thrusts against him before adding to the sticky mess of his briefs and stomach, his release accompanied by a low hiss of air and what might have been Jim's name.

They lay tangled for a few moments, Jim still struggling to breathe. He shifted after some time, his underwear getting distinctly uncomfortable now, and Spock silently rolled off of his chest to lie on his back on the bed. Jim peeled off the offending garment, dropping it off the side of the mattress carelessly, and rolled over with a satisfied groan.

He found himself curled against Spock's side, his head pillowed on the Vulcan's chest. He could feel himself moving with every gentle swell of breath Spock took, the motion strangely lulling beneath him.

"Damn," he said at last, after struggling and failing to think of a better word to sum up the situation. "You know, _I_ was supposed to be the mature one in this relationship, right?"

Spock didn't bother to respond, and Jim supposed it was probably for the best.

"In fact, I'm not even sure that you were properly de-virginated. Is that even a word? Oh God, I can't stop talking."

Spock's hand on the side of his neck silenced him, his fingers sliding up and over his chin to press against his lips briefly before pulling away. Jim closed his eyes, relieved and mortified at the same time. What the hell had Spock done to him, to make him like this?

"Hey, Spock," he murmured, his voice still carrying a hint of breathlessness. God, when was the last time he'd felt this damn _happy_?

"Yes." Spock's voice rumbled beneath his head, tickling his ear. Stifling a chuckle, Jim rolled until he lay on his side beside Spock. The narrow bed forced them to lie pressed against each other, but Jim found that he didn't mind at all. From the way Spock shifted to face him and wrapped an arm across his waist to hold Jim even closer, he also didn't find the restricting space to be very uncomfortable.

Jim stared into Spock's face, embarrassingly conscious that even after all this, he still got fluttery when they were this close together.

"There's something that's been bugging me for a long time," he said slowly, trying to distract himself.

"And what is that?"

"Is your favorite color actually black?"

Spock blinked almost owlishly at him. "No," he said slowly, after giving Jim his incredulous "foolish human, what nonsense do you speak now" look. "It is not."

"What, no debate on the pointlessness of having favorites?" Jim teased, grinning crookedly.

"My favorite color," Spock said primly, clearly choosing to ignore him, "if you must know, is blue."

"Blue?" Well, that was nice and ordinary. A bit unoriginal, perhaps, as his uniform was blue, but Jim had no idea what he was expecting anyway. "That's...nice. And kind of boring, I have to admit. Really, Spock, I expected more of you."

Now Spock looked merely exasperated. It was almost funny how easily Jim could read him now. "Blue is the color of your eyes, Jim."

Oh _God_. He was really too much. Jim could feel the wild grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, threatening to leak. He felt about to explode with all sorts of unmanly feelings. "Really? That's why?"

Spock's face twitched. "Does that displease you?"

"Are you kidding? This might have been the best thing I've ever heard," Jim laughed. "God, I love you so much."

Spock blinked again, surprised into silence, and Jim shifted his head closer on their shared pillow so that their foreheads bumped. "My favorite color is green," he confided in a mock whisper.

Spock's hand tightened on his hip absently, smoothing the skin there with his thumb in terribly distracting circles. "May I inquire as to the reason?"

Jim kissed him, a slow, teasing kiss that sent lazy sparks coiling down to his toes, and drew back with a satisfied smirk, flicking a tongue at the corner of his mouth. "It's the color you turn when I kiss you like that."

"You are insatiable," Spock reprimanded him, though only halfheartedly, and then his hand was on the back of Jim's neck, pulling him forward again, and Jim happily said nothing for a very long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, it's certainly been a long grueling journey, so to the survivors I raise my tankard to you. Tonight, comrades, we feast. Bring forth the kegs and tavern wenches.


End file.
